


Strange Feeling

by pignuklif



Category: Hamlet (1996), Hamlet - Shakespeare, Macbeth - Shakespeare, Othello - Shakespeare, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus - Shakespeare, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Blood, Consensual Underage Sex, Dialogue Heavy, END GAME IS HAMLET/HORTATIO, F/F, F/M, FUCK when did this get so dark, Fluff, Hamlet is very romantic and Horatio is drastically oblivious, I might move this from 'Mature' to 'Explicit', Incest, M/M, Nudity, Other, Pray for Horatio, Robots, Slow Burn, Tea, This is a tragedy, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, but they both love each other so it's fine, esp Hamlet someone come get him, it wouldn't be Shakespeare without a lil' incest, just young kids bein' stupit, nothing sexual happens until they are older, so much angst I am so sorry, the usual, this is my first published fic :), very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17869988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pignuklif/pseuds/pignuklif
Summary: A story about two boys growing up and falling in love++ON HIATUS FOR A SHORT WHILE++





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Only like 2 people are supposed to see this but it's here for others as well. There needs to be more Hamlet/Horatio in this world, no ?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> 1996 Kenneth Granagh and Nicholas Farrell are my Hamlet and Horatio, but as the reader, you are free to use your imagination to a limit. I'll leave their descriptions vague.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

"Did you know, your father died before you were born." She takes a drag from her cigarette. "Your father was a rich man. He gave all his money to his ex-wife. Did you know that ?" She takes another drag. "No, you're, what ? Six now ? Seven ?" She finally puts her cigarette out, the orange glow stays for a second before the crisp winter wind brings the heat to a sudden stop. She feels like she went colorblind. "You're a baby," she says. "Why are you out here ? Hungry ? I'm going to the store tomorrow." She nods. She shakes her head. She rolls her eyes. "At least try to seem like you have emotion. I feel like I birthed a brick." She goes inside and closes the door behind her. And on her son. Horatio can feel snow falling on his bare shoulders. He hadn't meant to stay out there long. Didn't feel the need to dress for the cold. He's too weak to open the rusty and wonky apartment balcony door. It is a sliding glass one. Why do they always get stuck at the bottom or the top of the rims ? Horatio lets go after his fingers start to pulse and he swears he sees purple. Instead, he huddles himself against the corner of the balcony. Fall leaves and spiderwebs move against the wind next to his ass and bare legs and he hears a door open. It's been years, it feels like. But she swears she only waited a few minutes before opening the door. Minutes in what world ?

 

He moves around twice. Thrice. He's moved around five times, no... eight times before landing finally in Langton, Washington. Horatio's mother, Mary, married a man. A rich man, with lots of land. He moves them [Horatio and Mary] into an expensive log family house with potted plants at the door and a white picket fence and his mother's [new] walk-in closet was bigger than their most expensive apartment. Horatio didn't know if his mother was happy or not with this new one. He's forgotten how to read body language. How to read emotions; expressions. He doesn't blame his mother. But it is her fault. He knows that, but he doesn't mind. He's always been home schooled. He's never had to be social.

 

Until he starts the third grade.

 

His new father, Harvey, takes him to school for the first time and he wants his mother. He doesn't know why, but she normally says something funny to cheer him up when he gets nervous about something. Why was Harvey touching Horatio ? Why was he patting him on the shoulder ? What good should that do, Horatio thinks. What good would this bring ? He finally shrugs Harvey off and he goes in alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"You have... Mrs Hardesty. She'll be your third grade teacher ! How exciting." Horatio looks up to the auburn counselor. She wore a plastic smile, stretched from ear to ear, teeth pointed, eyes unnaturally blown out of proportion, pupils dilated, why was her skin made of plastic ? why was all of her hair falling out ? Horatio reaches his hands out and feels her red hair burn his hands as they tumble down. He looks up once more and she's moved closer. He's so small compared to her. He bends back to look her in the eye. She smiles even wider, her mouth blown up in ways that should only happen in cartoons. How scary is this ? cartoons are supposed to be fake. Unreal. It's funny to be quirky and random on the television. But imagine it with our bodies. Our bones. Our muscles. Our blood. That isn't something Horatio finds normal, but still. He shows no emotion. So she leads him to his classroom.

 

 

Mrs Hardesty is an angel. Long brown hair, a comfortable, sparkling smile, bright eyes, she's in her 50's, maybe, and she's come from the heavens. Horatio knows of it. She introduces fair Horatio and for some odd reason his brown eyes find themselves locking on a blond haired boy in the back. He's wearing fancy designer clothing that Horatios only seen in magazines. He's clapping and smiling at Horatio, but... intensely. Too intensely. Horatio could feel his stare. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the intense boy. His claps slow and the class becomes blurry. Then his ears ring and everything is clear. And the room is quiet. And the ringing subsides.

 

"Horatio ?" Horatio nods. He says nothing else and Mrs Hardesty clears her throat.

 

"W-Where would you like to sit ?" He looks everywhere but where the blond is sitting and picks a seat next to a curly blonde haired girl and a brown haired girl and a Spanish boy. He doesn't feel right. He's never been around other children before, really.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Recess ? Recess. He's never had recess before. He's sitting outside at a picnic table and he can already feel the splinters itching to get stuck in his skin. He'd cry. He knows he would. Then a boy sits in front of him. It's the blond. And the blonde haired girl from class. Her curly hair is frizzy and touches the shoulders of the boy next to her. He smiles. Horatio doesn't see the smile, instead he sees his eyes. His eyes are a worn denim, so lost, cloudy. Lonely ? Horatio doesn't know. Can't know.

 

"Be our friend."

 

"Hamlet-" the blonde interrupts. The boy shrugs her hand off of his shoulder and his smile falters just a tad.

 

"Be _my_ friend, Horatio."

 

"Why ?"

 

"Why ?"

 

"Why. Why me ?"

 

"As in what."

 

"As in being your friend, why me ?"

 

"Because nobody else likes me." The blonde looks a bit hurt and her bright blue eyes begin to cry. Nothing physical. She doesn't cry but Horatio sees it. She does cry. Hamlet seems fine with not having any friends. Then who was the blonde ?

 

"I'm Ophelia," she blurts, confusing Horatio. Like she read his mind.

 

"I'm Hamlet," says the blond.

 

"I'm Hora-"

 

"I know who you are," says Hamlet, quickly, but softly. Horatio nods.

 

"Okay."

 

"Are we friends ?"

 

"You'd be my first friend." Hamlet's eyes lighten up. Horatio can see sparkles.

 

"Really ?" says Hamlet.

 

"Really," Horatio echoes. Hamlet is smiling, wider than ever. Ophelia says nothing and Horatio knows her mind rants.

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Let me come over to your house," Hamlet says one afternoon. Horatio's first week is almost ever. A Friday less to go. He puts his applesauce cup down and looks at Hamlet. Hamlet is smiling. Ophelia is absent.

 

" _My_ home ?"

 

"I bet it's lavishing."

 

"Is that a real word ?"

 

"Is your name a real word ?"

 

"Why does it need to be."

 

"Please." Hamlet pushes over his yoghurt cup, as if that is to modify Horatio's choice. Horatio bites his lip.

 

"Hamlet," he borderline whimpers.

 

"Of course."

 

"I need to talk it over with my parents."

 

"You do !" Hamlet agrees. "That is no 'no', is it ?"

 

"I don't believe so."

 

"Excellent. Horatio..."

 

"Hamlet ?" Hamlet only smiles. Then he gets up and begins to walk away. "Hamlet !" Horatio calls out. "Hamlet, I'm not for certain !"

 

"It is no 'no' !" Hamlet yells without turning back, then he sprints away and Horatio looks at the yoghurt cup.

* * *

 

 

 

"May... Hamlet stay over ?" Horatio's mother looks down at her son. She blinks.

 

"Hamlet ?"

 

"Hamlet, ma'am. He's a friend of mine."

 

"A friend of yours," she echoes, softly. "I don't see why not. Will you make a mess ?"

 

"No."

 

"Harvey's taking me out tonight. I'm leaving you with the nanny."

 

"May he come over tonight ?"

 

"Do you have his number ?"

 

"I haven't have a phone." Mary tsk's and nods.

 

"I know who he be."

 

"You know Hamlet ?"

 

"I know his parents. Awful are they."

 

"Are they..."

 

"They're wealthy."

 

"Oh."

 

"They're incestuous."

 

"Oh..."

 

"You don't know what that means."

 

"It's bad."

 

"Very." Horatio lets his mother bask in silence. "I'll call Gertrude. Today before we leave. If she says it's fine..."

 

"Hamlet may come over."

 

"Yes." Horatio smiles and his cheeks hurt. It has been so long since something has made him this excited. Too long, arguably.

 

So his mother did, call Gertrude, who Horatio believes to be Hamlet's mother. Gertrude says yes, much to the boys' excitement and the nanny goes to pick young Hamlet up. Horatio then becomes self-conscious. This house is a huge upgrade from what Horatio's lived in the past. But he sees what Hamlet wears; hears how he speaks. Would this be enough ? His room is a mess so he decides to clean it. That's what most do before they let a friend stay over ? Right ? Horatio's never had a friend before. And this is his first. He needs it to be perfect.

 

 

Horatio's opening the front door once it rings. First his nanny comes in, then behind her... Hamlet. Hamlet with his blonde curls so bright. His skin is so young and fair and Horatio almost believes him to be fake. Another cartoon. Hamlet smiles at Horatio and Horatio sees Hamlet with his backpack on. Horatio decides to question it later and shuts the door behind the party. Horatio feels his face heat up from the way Hamlet looks around. It's not a large house. It's a one story with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It's probably nothing like Hamlet's home. Being from a wealthy family and all.

 

"You have a lovely home," Hamlet says simply after looking a bit. Horatio sighs and Hamlet looks over to his dear friend. "What ?"

 

"I was afraid you wouldn't like it."

 

"Your house, you mean ?" Horatio nods. Hamlet shakes his head. "It's... endearing. Comfortable. What a home should be."

 

"And it should be endearing ?"

 

"It should be warm." Horatio doesn't ask any further questions.

 

"And your backpack."

 

"What of it ?"

 

"Why did you bring it ?" Hamlet smiles and tilts his head.

 

"You... wanted me to stay over." Horatio nods. "Spare clothes for tomorrow, my toothbrush, books-"

 

"You're staying the night ??"

 

"Tell me, Horatio... what doth thee bethink 'stay over' means ?" Horatio shakes his head.

 

"My apologies, I haven't many friends over before..." Hamlet laughs.

 

"Don't be shy, my friend. I'm glad you phrased it that way. I wanted to stay the night." Horatio knits his eyebrows. They move to the kitchen and they sit at the kitchen island.

 

"Why did you want to stay over ?" A part of Horatio wants Hamlet to say Horatio made him want to stay over. A part of Horatio wants Hamlet to say he wanted to stay over because Horatio is his friend. No, of course those aren't the case.

 

"To get away from my family." Horatio nods. "My mother's gone mad."

 

"Angry ?"

 

"Nay, Horatio. Mad. Crazy. Insane. Unstable. Mad !"

 

"I understand."

 

"You don't, but that's fine. I want to take my mind off of my family, Horatio."

 

"I can help," Horatio says. Hamlet smiles, but... his eyes are so hurt. Pained. Horatio doesn't even consider the smile.

 

"I know." Horatio gets up and goes to one of the wooden cabinets by the stove. He pulls out two glass cups.

 

"Water ?" Hamlet only nods.

 

"What do you do for fun around here, Horatio ?"

 

"That's a very dated pick up line."

 

"Is it a pick up line ?"

 

"In movies... you know, they- the players- speak like that."

 

"I'm a player. Fencing. Do you play ?"

 

"Fencing ?"

 

"No, piano." Hamlet laughs, Horatio says nothing. Hamlet in turn throws his arm over his friends shoulders and laughs. "Of course fencing. Hell, any sport for that matter."

 

"You speak like a grown up."

 

"I skipped kindergarten. I'm almost 10."

 

"That's bizarre."

 

"You speak like me."

 

"I suppose I do."

 

"That's why I'm drawn to you."

 

"Drawn to me ?"

 

"By a spool of thread; I'm the needle. I meet you. I'm pulled away from you. I speak to you. I'm pulled away again. Soon I'll be apart of you indefinitely."

 

"That's sad... why can't you come back ?"

 

"The string is memories," Hamlet begins. "Soon... Soon we'll part ways and never meet again."

 

"Like... out of school ?"

 

"It can happen at any time, no matter how finished the project is. How long the sew is."

 

"How about 'til death do us part ?" Hamlet looks to Horatio and grins like the Cheshire cat.

 

"Are you proposing to me ?"

 

"Now who's mad ?" Hamlet's smile falters just for a moment before he side-hugs Horatio tighter.

 

“Now who’s using pick up lines, you mean. You never answered my question.”

 

“About Fencing ?” Hamlet nods. Horatio looks up and shakes his head. “No… I’ve never played any sport.”

 

“Why not ?”

 

“I prefer… I prefer reading.”

“A scholar you are.” Horatio shakes his head again and looks to Hamlet.

 

“A scholar ? I’m but only nine.”

 

“Nine and a scholar.”

 

“Shut up.” Hamlet laughs. Horatio smiles just a bit and Hamlet immediately stops laughing.

 

“Why are you allergic to being happy ?”

 

“A way with words, you have.”

 

“A way with words is all I have.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Stop changing the subject.” Horatio frowns.

 

“I don’t smile much,” says Horatio. Hamlet chuckles.

 

“Yeah. Yes, I am aware.” Hamlet waits for Horatio to continue. Hamlet says, “Please. Tell me more about yourself.”

 

“I will if you will.”

 

“I wanted to be your friend to get to know you better,” Hamlet says. “So of course. You first. Tell me… why don’t you smile ?”

 

Horatio says, “My childhood was a tragedy. Hell, it might still even be one. I grew up in a rough place.” Hamlet watches Horatio carefully. He doesn't sport his usual playful grin. Only curious worn denim eyes. Cold but warm all at the same time. Horatio can only look at them as he speaks. He says, “I was always such an outcast. Nobody liked me, not even my mother. I’m still not sure if she likes me now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hamlet says. Horatio nods and shrugs.

 

“I can’t change any of that now.”

 

“You don’t hold grudges ?”

 

“You do ?” Hamlet purses his lips. Horatio says, “Tell me. It’s your turn.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But only if it’s worth holding a grudge over.”

 

“How do you mean ?”

 

“If someone killed your father or mother or someone you cared about, would you hold a grudge ?” Horatio thinks about somebody killing Hamlet. He nods. Hamlet continues, “Alright, then yeah. I hold certain grudges.”

 

“Are you telling me someone killed a loved one of yours ?”

 

“I’m not saying that.”

 

“What are you saying ?”

 

“Some grudges are worth holding.” Horatio doesn't believe him. “Anyhow,” Hamlet takes a sip of his water. “Does your mother resent you ?”

 

“Does she regret having me ?” Hamlet nods, eyeing Horatio curiously. He doesn't want to know for blackmail or to make fun of Horatio. Horatio knows that. He doesn't want the pity. The excess attention. Maybe Hamlet won't even believe him.

 

“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” Horatio says. He takes a long sip of his water and nods. “Yes. It's a big possibility... She was going to go to Harvard.”

 

“No way.” Horatio nods.

 

“Then she got pregnant and got kicked off of campus.” Hamlet says nothing. Horatio shakes his head. “Tragic for her, really... she blames me for something she was the fault of. I didn't ask to be born–” Horatio thinks he said something sensitive for Hamlet to be hugging him as aggressively as he is. Hamlet tightens and tightens his hug and Horatio stays frowning. This was pity. The pity he was afraid of. He wants to cry.

 

“My condolences,” says Hamlet, softly. He's running his fingers through Horatio's long brown hair, slowly, sensually. It's soothing. Horatio finally hugs back and feels Hamlet sighing against his cheek and ear.

 

“Why are you sad ?” Horatio whispers. Hamlet doesn't pull away and says, “Because you're so gentle.” Horatio stills and blinks.

 

“Am I…” Hamlet finally pulls away and Horatio misses the warmth.

 

“You are. It maddens me that the world could treat you in such a cold manner, my dear friend.”

 

“Don't let it get to you, Hamlet. I could have it worse.” Hamlet tilts his head, looking down, then shrugs.

 

“You still don't deserve to think that way.”

 

“Think what way,” Horatio asks, but he already knows the answer to that.

 

“To think you aren't worthy of living.” Horatio doesn't remember saying anything along those lines but... Hamlet speaks the truth. He doesn't believe he belongs in this world. A world so cruel.

 

“You are worthy of living,” Hamlet says. “I love you.” Horatio laughs; he does. It's not a laugh meant for a ten-year old. It's cold and hoarse and unnatural.

 

“What means you, Hamlet ?” Hamlet shakes his head and doesn't speak. Instead he looks down. Horatio frowns. Surely he jests. “I don't mean to tease you.”

 

“Don't you ?” asks Hamlet.

 

“Nay,” says Horatio. The nanny walks into the kitchen and smiles at both of the boys. She's made of metal and her eyes hold all the colors of the rainbow and more. More colors than what are meant to be seen by humans. On her shoes are wheels. That's how she travels. On roller blades. It's quite humorous.

 

“What would you like for dinner, Horshoe,” she asks. Hamlet snorts and Horatio shakes his head, smiling.

 

“H-Horshoe,” Hamlet gasps in between giggling.

 

“She's a cheap one... Um… We have mac and cheese somewhere, DeLeon,” Horatio says. The nanny, DeLeon, nods and begins to prep.

 

Horatio says, “Let's move to my room,” and they do. Robots hear things. Robots repeat things.

 

 

Horatio's room is plain. No posters, no colorful bedding or clothes, nothing on his desk but a bug catcher kit and bookshelves on his shelf of bugs and biology and philosophy and history. Hamlet brushes his fingers on the worn spines and nods.

 

“I like yo–”

 

“Don't,” Horatio laughs. He sits on his bed and pats the space next to him. Hamlet steals a book from Horatio's shelf and goes to sit down.

 

“Republic… Plato.”

 

“It's alright,” Says Horatio, pulling out his weekend homework.

 

“Just alright ?” Asks Hamlet. Horatio begins scribbling on his assignment and nods. Hamlet says, “Why just alright.” Horatio sighs and sets his pencil down on his lap.

 

“Book X, division V.”

 

“You dislike the conclusion ?”

 

“You've read it ?”

 

“Book I and II.”

 

“I don't dislike the conclusion,” says Horatio. “I think it's rather pretty.”

 

“Okay…” Horatio sighs.

 

“Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony or a greater wealth of humor or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor in any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation, or to connect politics with philosophy.”

 

“You're sad it was cut short.”

 

“No, Hamlet. Besides Laws, this,” Horatio points to the book. “is the longest of his works. And one of the most provocative and beautiful… I…”

 

“You wish there was more.” Horatio nods.

 

“He was the greatest metaphysical genius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in any other ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained.”

 

“What are your views on Socrates, then ?” Horatio bites the inside of his cheek, playing with the skin adipose by his gums.

 

“In what sense ?”

 

“The sciences of logic and psychology, are based upon the analyses of Socrates and Plato. They're both important when it comes to the latter especially.” Horatio's hazel orbs become locked with Hamlet's playful blue. He smiles a bit. Hamlet smiles back.

 

“You're quite knowledgeable in this… area," says Horatio. "A subject no one talks about anymore.”

 

“I'm old-fashioned," Hamlet says easily, shrugging.

 

“Quite clearly…” Horatio studies Hamlet's eyes and Hamlet lets him. "You," says Horatio, "have the most beautiful eyes." Hamlet blinks. Then again. Then more, rapidly. Then he looks away.

 

"Ah... Thank you."

 

"Do you get that a lot ?" Hamlet is about to say 'yes', but stops. He looks to Horatio.

 

"You... also have exquisite eyes."

 

"Now you're just showing off."

 

"What means you, Horatio ?" Horatio laughs, another hoarse laugh. Hamlet's smile is still there but his eyebrows dip just slightly. Horatio calms down and covers his mouth.

 

"It's raw," he whispers. Hamlet shakes his head and reaches over to gently grab Horatio's hand in his. The hand once at Horatio's mouth is moved down and Horatio sees Hamlet smile even wider.

 

"I think it's lovely." Horatio blushes. He's about to say something back but DeLeon interrupts them.

 

"Food," she says simply. Horatio is suddenly aware of just how close the both are. Hamlet's thigh is pressed hard against Horatio's own and Hamlet hovers over Horatio's lap. Horatio quickly moves away, letting the feel of Hamlet's hand slip from above him.

 

"Come. We'll talk more in the kitchen."


	2. Nobody Reads Books Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is a kind of sad chapter.  
> The next chapter will be a bit of comic relief.  
> My Rosencrantz is Gary Oldman and my Guildenstern is Tim Roth (From Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy <3

Over the years, Hamlet and Horatio grow closer. Hamlet stays over at Horatio's house nearly every weekend. They share lunch. They read the same books and go to the library after school on most days.

Hamlet is seventeen now and Horatio, sixteen. Hamlet's grown into a lithe and well-built young man. Horatio's seen him shirtless multiple times during the summer and sometimes during sleepovers. He sometimes finds himself being jealous over Hamlet's physique. Jealousy was the feeling, right ?

Horatio doesn't think it's weird for two almost grown adults to have sleepovers with each other still; he doesn't have enough friends to know. He doesn't watch a lot of media, as well. Until his mother told him. Indirectly. Through Harvey.

 

 

* * *

“It's– you're sixteen, Ratio,” Harvey's a math major. Thinks the nickname is 'killer’. “don't you think having sleepovers with a seventeen-year-old boy is weird ?” Horatio's nose wrinkles at the enunciation of 'boy’. As if having a sleepover with a girl would be better.

 

“How is it weird ?” Harvey purses his lips. He actually looks at a loss for words. And good. Why is it weird for two friends to have sleepovers in high school. Because it seems 'gay’ ? Because they aren't toddlers ? And it's okay for girls in their late teens to have sleepovers still. Horatio rolls his eyes.

 

“Harvey,” Horatio says. “I know... my mom sent you to have this talk with me.” Harvey doesn't meet his eyes. “Harvey, if it makes you–... her feel better... let her know I'm not gay and Hamlet just doesn't enjoy his own household.”

 

“Is that the truth ?”

 

“Which part.” Harvey pales and Horatio smiles.

 

“Okay… Okay, well… okay.” Harvey smiles and leaves at the instant, making Horatio chuckle to himself. He flops down on his bed and absentmindedly groans. He wanted to get out. Move out. Away from Harvey and his mother. Since Horatio started high school his mother finally began therapy, stopped smoking, stop drinking coke, started college classes... she actually got her anger under control and she was much more tolerable than years back. Hamlet was the first one to point out the change in atmosphere after she changed. Horatio hadn't noticed. Never cared.

 

_**Ham** **Omelette**_ : r u up

_**Horatio**_ : it's only 8 30

_**Ham Omelette**_ : u go to sleep way too early

_**Horatio**_ : what do you need

_**Ham Omelette**_ : **[typing…]**

_**Ham Omelette**_ :

_**Ham Omelette**_ : **[typing…]**

A pause.

_**Ham Omelette**_ : can I come over

Horatio knits his eyebrows.

_**Horatio**_ : now ?

_**Ham Omelette**_ : no, tomorrow

_**Ham Omelette**_ : yes now, you dip

_**Horatio**_ : fine

 

Not even five seconds had passed before Horatio could hear tapping at his bedroom window. He walks over to open it and sees a smiling bleach blond in his bushes. He sports a goofy smile and the flash on his phone is on. Horatio lets him in.

 

“What if I had said no,” Horatio snaps in a hushed tone, smiling. Hamlet mimics his smile and shrugs.

 

“I would have broken in anyhow.”

 

“I should know better.” Hamlet immediately goes to Horatio's closet and opens it. Four, maybe five shirts are hung up and above and below on his shelves are rows and rows of books. In alphabetical order, naturally. Hamlet picks out a book and then goes to sit on Horatio's bed.

 

“'Kaffir Boy’,” Hamlet reads aloud.

 

“It's sad.”

 

“Is it ? Well, if the king of Stoic Emotionless Bricks says it's bad, I must read it.”

 

“Hey-”

 

“I'm teasin’, I'm teasin’... How sad ?”

 

“It's based on a true story. It's a biography. It's graphic.” Hamlet whistles lowly as he reads the back and nods. He looks so comfortable on Horatio's bed. Like it's his. Like he's meant to be there. Horatio sits at the edge of his bed and hears footsteps approaching his room.

 

“Ugh. It's probably Harvey again,” Horatio mutters, mainly to himself, but Hamlet hears.

 

“Again ?”

 

“He's worried I'm spending too much time with you.”

 

“ _He_ is ?” Horatio smiles. Hamlet already knows.

 

“Okay... my mother is…” Horatio hears Hamlet shuffle behind him and then tenses up from the presence of a hand on his shoulder. He only lets Hamlet touch him. He's never let anyone touch him consensually. Hamlet's familiar. Horatio trusts him. He lets the hand stay on his shoulder and jumps slightly at the loud knock.

 

“I'm coming in–” Shit.

 

“It's my mom,” Horatio says, quietly, eyes widening. Horatio looks around and gets up. “I'm chang– I'm naked ! Hold on !”

 

“Hurry up.” Horatio quickly brings the giggling Hamlet to his feet and pushes him in the closet. He slowly closes his closet door so it's silent and then opens his bedroom door. Mary frowns and looks Horatio up and down. She says, “You're wearing the same clothing you've been wearing all day.”

 

“I didn't want to take long so I just redressed.” Mary's eyes turn into black slits and her jaw slides to the left. Her face is accusatory and suspicious, but she doesn't push him.

 

“I just came to ask you if you've heard from Hamlet.” Horatio blinks.

 

“Hamlet ?” Mary crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe. She's miles shorter than Horatio but he still gets goosebumps around her. She's the most intimidating woman he's ever known.

 

“Yeeeeaaah… Gertrude called. Says Hamlet's missin’.”

 

“He's always missing,” Horatio counters. Mary nods slowly.

 

“Yeah. But this time he left a note.”

 

“A note,” Horatio's rolling his eyes mentally. Oh Hamlet, what did you do.

 

“Says he hates his life and wants to leave.” Horatio sighs and nods.

 

“I'll talk to him.” Mary nods. “I won't tell you his location, but I'll talk to him.”

 

“Fine. I don't want the cops to come here. So... do whatever.” Mary leaves at that and Horatio closes his door. Hamlet steps out with a new book and opens his mouth to read the title.

 

“Don't–” Horatio snaps. Hamlet closes his mouth, his icy eyes looking into Horatio's Earthy ones. Horatio's frowning. 

 

“I don't know,” Hamlet answers. He answers to nothing. He already knows what Horatio will ask. Horatio shakes his head and crosses his arms.

 

“You don't know why you left the note ?”

 

“I hate that house,” Hamlet whispers, fingers brushing through the edges of the pages in the new book he's picked up. Horatio watches the pages flutter down, making a “thwwpp” sound. “I hate it.” Hamlet doesn't elaborate any further and Horatio goes to sit on his bed.

 

“Hamlet, you can't keep... running away when things get rough.”

 

“What do you suppose I do, o-wise one.”

 

“Don't be like that, Hamlet,” Horatio mutters, breathlessly, tiredly. “I care about you. You're my best friend.”

 

“Oh, please… I'm your only friend.” Horatio nods.

 

“Yeah. You could be my only friend. And just a friend. But you're not. You're my best friend. My closest friend.” Hamlet clutches his heart and falls to the bed, landing on his back.

 

“Oh, you warm my heart, fair Horatio.” Horatio purses his lips and frowns even harder, if that was even possible.

 

“I'm… serious… Hamlet. This is serious. Have you gone mad ?” Hamlet laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs and though it's quiet, Horatio covers his friend's mouth. “I don't jest.” Hamlet nods and sits up. Horatio takes his hand away and looks at the blond sternly.

 

“I am mad,” Hamlet informs, quietly. “I've been mad since the day my father died. I've been mad since my Mother and Uncle started fucking—and especially when they fuck loudly in the room just next to mine. I've been mad since my Uncle took over my father's business and changed the name. I've always been mad, my dear sweet Horatio. You just never noticed. Because you have no real friends, no. None to show you what normal is. To you, I am normal. I'm your standard of 'normal’, because I'm all you've ever known. You think Harvey is weird ? Don't you ? He's the most normal man I've ever come to know. He's a good man. A husband, sane, he has a full and well job. Nice house. He treats animals right–”

 

“You treat animals right,” Horatio says in a hushed tone.

 

“That isn't the point !” Hamlet yells. He yells so softly but for Horatio it's a bomb. A nuclear bomb. Hamlet's never been so angry at him before in the weirdest way. Smiling. Still trying to make his tangent into a joke. “Horatio, I am mad and you're just now noticing it. How awful is that ? You're so muted and stoic and borderline sociopathic and you're friends with me." Horatio says nothing and Hamlet reaches over to hug him. Horatio hugs Hamlet back. After a minute, Horatio feels Hamlet begin to shake and huff loudly twice. He's crying.

 

He's never seen Hamlet cry before. Horatio's always admired Hamlet's bravery and nobility. He's always been so bold and courageous and caring and optimistic...

 

Except recently. Horatio's noticed a decline in Hamlet's grades. And the way he talks about his house. The way he talks about his mother and step-father/uncle. The way he... the way he talks about death. Hamlet's asked Horatio about death before. "What is death but an endless sleep ?" Hamlet said. Horatio didn't think of the question then. Didn't question all of the questions. "Do you think there's life after death ?"; "Do you think robots experience death ?"; "If you could die, how would you want to go ? Something... painful ? Like losing in a sword fight ? Or maybe something soft, like Poison. Hmm... What about both ? Wouldn't that be a tragedy, Horatio," he said.

 

Horatio's grip on Hamlet tightens.

 

“I'm sorry,” Horatio says. Hamlet pushes him back.

 

“Don't be sorry,” Hamlet replies. “I shouldn't have said those things about you.”

 

“You're right about them, though.”

 

“I'm not. You're so kind, Horatio. You're so kind and gentle and stoic, yes, but not in a bad way.” Horatio looks down to Hamlet's lap and sees the book he had picked out. Horatio picks it up.

 

“Juliana... Cynewulf.” Horatio murmurs.

 

“He was a great poet, that Cynewulf,” Hamlet says. Horatio nods.

 

“Him and William Langland, Edgar Allen Poe and lots of Philosophy were what I read when I was younger,” Horatio comments, opening the rather dusty book. Hamlet nods.

 

“I know.” Horatio shakes his head and looks at Hamlet.

 

“No… before you and I even met.”

 

“What ? You were reading those kinds of things before the third grade ? How have you not... skipped a grade, I don't know. A-Anglo-Saxon ? Olde English ? Really ?”

 

“I wanted to get my GED and skip high school... or drop and become a robot repair mechanic.”

 

“But ?” Horatio looks at Hamlet's hand. His pale fingers were playing with Horatio's white sheets. Rubbing and folding. Out of habit. Out of boredom ? Out of… restlessness. 

 

“But… I wanted... to stay with you.” Hamlet stops playing with the sheets and Horatio looks up. Hamlet's eyes are red and his chlorine water blue eyes are wavy. Ripply. Static, suddenly.

 

“Why ?”

 

“I didn't want you to be alone. My mother said once I get out of high school I needed to leave. Go. I didn't want to leave you. Especially since…” Horatio trails off and Hamlet nods, eyes not leaving Horato's.

 

“Especially since I'm suicidal.”

 

“I didn't say that.”

 

“You didn't need to.” Hamlet sighs. “I'm broken. I can admit that. I wish you'd acknowledge it, too, so I didn't think I was crazy."

 

"You are crazy, though, fair Hamlet." Hamlet smirks.

 

"Shut up." Horatio smiles only a little and looks at Hamlet's hand once more. Hamlet's fingers are back to rubbing circles into the soft fabric. Horatio's tempted to grab it. To hold it. To hold it and kiss it and tell Hamlet it's all going to be okay. Even if it doesn't. He'll always be there to carry him and help him and support him and be his genuine friend. "I was kidding," Hamlet whispers. Horatio looks up to Hamlet and Hamlet's moved closer. The redness on Hamlet's eyes has traveled to his cheeks and neck. And maybe his lips. Were they always this pink ? Hamlet suddenly loses balance and begins to lean forward. Horatio falls out of Hamlet's way just in time for Mary and Harvey to come into the room.

 

Horatio lays with Hamlet in between Horatio's propped legs, chin resting on the brunet's chest. Horatio slowly looks up to his parents and swallows loudly.

 

Hamlet's sent home and he promises Horatio that he'd see the brunet at school. Horatio took that as a 'don't worry, I won't kill myself.'. That was enough for him.

* * *

 

 

"Do you think it's true ?"

 

"Do you think it's not ?"

 

"I don't... I-It doesn't sound like her."

 

"What doesn't." Hamlet and Horatio knew a few other kids at school who they hung out with and spoke to a lot. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were their names. And occasionally Ophelia when she wasn't with the "Nobles". Today Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are sharing secrets. Gossip. Coffee. Steaming hot coffee that Hamlet wanted in on.

 

"T-..." Guildenstern looks to Rosencrantz. Rosencrantz's lips are pursed and he shakes his head slightly.

 

"Come on," Hamlet nudges Rosencrantz. "Tell me something I don't know."

 

"Not really something you'd want to know," Guildenstern mutters.

 

"Alternatively, something you'd want to get involved with," Rosencrantz adds, a little louder. Hamlet frowns.

 

"What means you fools ?"

 

"Calm down, Hamlet," Horatio says quietly, leaning over to lay his hand on Hamlet's arm.

 

"We're just... saying," Guildenstern looks to Rosencrantz, then continues to speak. "It's not something you, in particular, would be... happy about."

 

"Awful it is," Rosencrantz adds. "Awful that this must've happen-"

 

"Quiet," Hamlet hisses quietly. Horatio frowns and retracts his hand. "Tell me now or I'll order your heads off."

 

"Order our heads off ?" Rosencrantz parries. "Tell me then, friend Hamlet, how would you get our information ?"

 

"If we're to die before we tell you what's how... how, indeed, will you find out of what we speak of."

 

"And who," Rosencrantz grins.

 

"Who ?" Hamlet inquires. "How's what and who's what's happened to ?"

 

"Indeed," Rosencrantz says through his teeth, grin as wide as the Cheshire's. He takes a sip of his juice and nods. "It's Ophelia." Guildenstern rolls his eyes and Horatio presses his teeth together.

 

"Ophelia," Hamlet breathes. "How... she fares how well ?"

 

"Not at all," Guildenstern informs, solemnly. He looks around and leans close to Hamlet. Hamlet meets him halfway across the table. "She's said to be pregnant." Hamlet's face washes over various emotions. His eyes are how channels change on a television. Channel after channel. Surprise, confusion, sadness, confusion once more, then it lands on the worst channel of them all, arguably. Anger.

 

"What ??" Hamlet all but yells. Rosencrantz and Horatio both rush to Hamlet's side, holding him down before he raises from his seat and makes a scene. Guildenstern jumps back. Some students are looking at the four now and Horatio's face paints red.

 

"A scene you'll make," Rosencrantz whispers.

 

"Hamlet, allow them to elaborate," Horatio whispers on the other side of their blond friend. Hamlet seems to calm down a bit and his arms stop shaking. Rosencrantz and Horatio let go of Hamlet slowly and Rosencrantz goes back to his seat. Guildenstern clears his throat.

 

"Ophelia is said to be pregnant-"

 

"By who ?"

 

"By whom," Rosencrantz edits. Hamlet glares at him.

 

Guildenstern says, "By the village, Hamlet." Hamlet rolls his eyes. "Now... We know not by whom contributed to the consumation of her supposed child, but there... there are some speculation."

 

"And ?"

 

"And you are too angry right now, Hamlet," Guildenstern finishes. Hamlet looks as if he's witnessed a cliff hanger in real time. "Calm down and we'll share our conspiracies."

 

"You tell me right this instant or with God's help, I will-"

 

"Hamlet." Hamlet stops mid-threat and turns to see Ophelia. And behind her the "Nobles", which consist of Olivia Night (She likes to brag that she's the 12th daughter of the Night family in a row), Juliet Capulet (One half of the school's power couple; she's been homecoming queen for 3 years in a row and plans to become Prom Queen), and Helena Summers (The jealous "bad cop". She doesn't like many people). Hamlet quickly gets up and smiles. Horatio can see the cartoonish hearts floating around his head.

 

"Ophelia," Hamlet breathes out. He takes her hand and smiles. "How are you ?" Ophelia isn't smiling.

 

"Hamlet, I need to tell you something.” Immediately Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, Horatio and the “Nobles” leave Hamlet and Ophelia to themselves.

 

They go over to the Noble table.

 

“Aw,” Rosencrantz mutters, after a beat of silence. The students in the background make for ambient noise. A noise no one pays any real attention to. Except for Horatio.

 

“Hmm ?” Guildenstern leans on his fist and faces his long haired friend.

 

“I forgot my food.” Juliet giggles and pushes her food to Rosencrantz.

 

“My robo-chef made me this, but I'm not hungry.” Rosencrantz takes her tray and graciously thanks her while Guildenstern rolls his eyes. Horatio looks to Hamlet and Ophelia. Now they're both frowning. Ophelia begins to say something but she's cut off by Hamlet. He's yelling at her, quietly. Horatio turns back to the Nobles.

 

"What... is that ? About, I mean ?" Helena rolls her eyes.

 

"She may or may not be pregnant with Hamlet's child."

 

"Knew it," Rosencrantz says with a full mouth of fish.

 

"Is that so," Horatio breathes. He looks back over to Hamlet who's now red with anger. But his eyes are so sad. Hasn't he suffered enough ? Now to have gotten a teenager pregnant... Hamlet looks over to Horatio and Horatio looks down. Then he turns back to the rest of his table. "What do you think might happen ?"

 

"I think he'll keep it," Rosencrantz says.

 

"No way Ophelia is," Olivia mutters. Everyone turns to her.

 

"Wherefore might you say that ?" Horatio asks.

 

"Wherefore might I not ? I'm her best friend. I know her..."

 

"Moreover, she told us she wouldn't," Helena whispers to Horatio. Horatio nods, slowly.

 

"Anyways, whatever Ophelia wants, we support her," Olivia says proudly. Horatio looks back to Hamlet who now lays his forehead on young Ophelia's shoulder. It must be true. Poor Hamlet. Poor poor Hamlet.

* * *

 

 

“She's pregnant,” Hamlet says as he and Horatio walk to the train stop. It's snowing and Horatio's pants are damp from the cold snow. Horatio knows this. “She isn't keeping the baby, though.” Horatio looks to Hamlet, curious. Confused ?

 

“Do you know why ?”

 

“She's young,” Hamlet says simply, shrugging. “She doesn't want one.”

 

“Are you upset by it ?”

 

“Any man would be.” Horatio shrugs one shoulder.

 

“Not any man.”

 

“You don't want children ?”

 

“At such a young age ?” Hamlet smiles and looks up to the sky. His nose is as red as his eyes. “No.”

 

“I see why you'd think that way,” Hamlet says quietly.

 

“Why would you want a child now ?” Hamlet looked to Horatio.

 

“You know why.”

 

“I don't believe I do,” Horatio says. Hamlet opened his mouth, then closes it.

 

“Forget it,” Hamlet whispers. Tired. Not annoyed, just exhausted. Horatio felt guilty. For what reason, he didn't know. He just felt… guilty.

 

“Do you want to come over,” Horatio asks while they wait for the train. Hamlet sighs.

 

“I dunno. My cousin's coming into town. He's gonna be starting school and I have to 'settle him in’.”

 

“Cousin ?”

 

“Fortinbras. He's from Norway.”

 

“Is he nice ?” 

 

“Is he nice ?”

 

“Is he friendly, Hamlet.”

 

“I don't remember. The last time we spoke was before my father died. He and Fortinbras’ father had a falling out and I never really spoke to him anymore.”

 

“That's sad.” Hamlet scoffs.

 

“Yeah, a real tragedy.” Horatio grimaces at the sarcasm. It isn't Hamlet's usual light sarcasm, but instead a venomous prick. Quick but deadly and terrifying. "I barely know him." Horatio says nothing further until they part ways to go home.

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, Horatio ! What's poppin’, man ?” Not even a second through the door and Harvey wants to speak to Horatio. He had hoped Harvey was at a meeting or… simply somewhere else. Unfortunately not.

 

“Hello, Harvey,” Horatio mutters, closing the door behind him and wiping his feet on the doormat.

 

“Please. Call me Dad.” It's meant to be a joke. Harvey's laughing. Horatio can only muster a smile and even it feels plastic and unconvincing. Harvey asks, “How was your day ?” He didn't care. Horatio definitely had the story to make him leave the brunet alone.

 

“Hamlet's girlfriend, for lack of a better word, is pregnant. With his child.” Harvey's eyes were wide now. He slowly nods and Horatio crosses his arms. Horatio leans against the living room entryway smiling while Harvey's grasping for words to say.

 

“Well… well, that's… well–”

 

“No, yeah, my thoughts exactly. _Dad_.” Harvey looks up at Horatio and purses his lips.

 

“Got it. Good talk, Horatio.” Horatio nods and goes to his room.

 

_**Ham Omelette**_ : are u home

**_Horatio_** : I have the sense to lie

_**Ham Omelette**_ : dont be a cunt

_**Horatio**_ : window's open

 

Fourteen minutes later, Hamlet does show up and climbs through the window. Or moreso hops. Hamlet's been using new ways to get in. Once he tried to swing through using his upper body strength. He had gripped onto the top of the window from the inside and attempted at pulling up and throwing his legs through. Did it work ? Hamlet has a scar on the front of his right ankle and had dislocated his shoulder. Now it's funny, in retrospect it definitely was not. Now Hamlet settles for using one hand and hopping in. He's smarter now.

 

“My mom fuckin’ found out about Ophelia and now I'm grounded.”

 

“Grounded from going out ?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You snuck out ?”

 

“Horatio, friend, you act so surprised.”

 

“Guilty by association, my mother will end me if your mother talks to her about you sneaking over here.”

 

“Selfish, you are. My unborn child is being killed at this very moment.” Horatio's shoulders slack and he unclenches his jaw unconsciously. He sits on his bed, next to Hamlet.

 

“I'm sorry… I am selfish.” Hamlet shrugs.

 

“At least you own up to it.”

 

“Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

 

“You wanna know ?” Horatio frowns. “You can… I dunno, talk Ophelia out of abortion ? You can do all of my late assignments. Hell, you can change my grades yourself.” Horatio frowns and shakes his head, eyes blinking rapidly.

 

“Please stop.” Hamlet looks up at Horatio and nods.

 

“You can't do anything.”

 

“So why are you here ?” Hamlet shrugs. “If… If I can't do anything for you, why come here ?”

 

“Rosencrantz is too far.” Horatio clenches his jaw, eyebrows knitted. Hamlet's in a rough patch, Horatio understands that. But he's done nothing wrong to Hamlet. He wasn't the one getting the abortion or grounding him. He didn't want to fight with Hamlet, though. No, Horatio's too passive for that. He changes the subject.

 

“I thought… Fortinbras was going to your house.” Hamlet scoffs.

 

“You suppose I should talk to him about it ?” Horatio shakes his head.

 

“Hamlet, you told me you were going to help him settle in.”

 

“Fuck that.”

 

“Hamlet–”

 

“Horatio !” Hamlet gets up and smiles and glides to Horatio's closet. “What should I read this visit ?” Horatio stays silent, lips pressed tightly together in a frown, eyes sharp. “Iliad ? Good Homer ?" Hamlet takes out a book and throws it on the floor. "Uh, maybe Moby Dick ?" He throws that book on the floor as well. He's gone mad, Horatio thinks. "Maybe… Ah !” Hamlet reaches for a dusty book from the top shelf and takes it down. He studies it and Horatio finally gets up.

 

“Put that down.”

 

“What is it ? Nobody reads books anymore–” Horatio reaches for the book in Hamlet's hand and Hamlet raises it high and jumps back. Horatio's taller than Hamlet by a bit but stands still. He doesn't try to snatch it from his blond friend.

 

“Hamlet,” Horatio frowns.”I'm not going to fight you for that.” Hamlet opens the book.

 

“Then don't.”

 

“Why must you be such an ass, Hamlet ?”

 

“Why ask why ?”

 

“You're a child.”

 

“I'm mourning.” Horatio bites his cheek.

 

“You can't use that forever…” Hamlet closes the book and his eyes are sad again. The rims of his eyes are red. He'd been crying before he came over.

 

“I know. But it's true.”

 

“You're mourning your child ?” Horatio asks softly. Hamlet sits down on Horatio's desk and shakes his head.

 

“I'm mourning myself.”

 

“What do you mean ?”

 

“Horatio.” Hamlet gets up and goes to sit by Horatio. He grabs Horatio's hand hesitantly and opens his mouth to speak. But nothing comes out. He then shakes his head and smiles. “Thanks.”

 

“For… ?”

 

“For being my friend. I'm difficult.”

 

“You're human.” Hamlet shrugs.

 

“Sometimes it feels like… I'm artificial.”

 

“Is that a metaphor ?” Hamlet begins to shake his head then blinks and sighs.

 

“I dunno. Just… thanks.” Horatio squeezes Hamlet's hand and nods.

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter III will be from Rosencrantz's point of view  
> Chapter IV will be from Hamlet's POV  
> Then on it'll be Horatio, mostly. Appropriate constructive Criticism is appreciated <3


	3. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy hehe

“Ms Titania gave me so much homework,” Rosencrantz says one morning. Hamlet and Horatio sit quietly across from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, mumbling some nonsense, eating their school breakfast. Guildenstern is drinking milk.

 

“How much ?”

 

“Too much.”

 

“How much is too much ?” Rosencrantz laughs softly.

 

“Too much is too much… I need a distraction.”

 

“What do you have in mind ?”

 

“We could play at questions,” says Rosencrantz.

 

“What good would that do ?”

 

“It's fun !”

 

“Statement ! One-love.”

 

“Cheating !”

 

“How ?”

 

“I hadn't started yet,”

 

“Statement. Two-love.” Rosencrantz frowns.

 

“Are you counting that ?”

 

“What ?” Guildenstern asks.

 

“Are you counting that ?” Rosencrantz repeats.

 

“Foul ! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to–”

 

“I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.”

 

“Whose serve ?”

 

“Huh ?”

 

“Foul! No grunts. Love-one.”

 

“Whose go ?”

 

“Why ?”

 

“Why not ?”

 

“What for?”

 

“Foul !” Rosencrantz cries. “No synonyms ! One-all.”

 

“What in God's name is going all?”

 

“Foul ! No rhetoric. Two-one,” Rosencrantz sing-songs.

 

“What does it all add up to ?”

 

“Can't you guess ?”

 

“Were you addressing me ?”

 

“Is there anyone else ?” Guildenstern looks to Hamlet and Horatio and huffs. Hamlet and Horatio now watch them.

 

“Who ?”

 

“How would I know ?”

 

“Why do you ask ?”

 

“Are you serious ?”

 

“Was that rhetoric ?”

 

“No.”

 

“Statement !” Guildenstern points to Rosencrantz. “Two-all. Game point.”

 

“What's the matter with you today ?”

 

“When ?”

 

“What ?”

 

“Are you deaf ?” Guildenstern asks, smiling.

 

“Am I dead ?” Rosencrantz plays, raising his hand to his ear.

 

“Yes or no ?”

 

“Is there a choice ?”

 

“Is there a God?”

 

“Foul ! No non sequiturs, three-two, one game all.”

 

“What's your name ?” Guildenstern asks seriously.

 

“What's yours ?”

 

“I asked you first.”

 

“Statement. One-love.”

 

“What's your name when you're at home ?”

 

“What's yours ?”

 

“When I'm at home ?”

 

“Is it different at home ?”

 

“What home ?”

 

“Haven't you got one ?” Rosencrantz teases.

 

“Why do you ask ?”

 

“What are you driving at ?”

 

“What is your name ?” Guildenstern emphasizes.

 

“Repetition,” Rosencrantz says. “Two-love. Match point to me.” Guildenstern seizes Rosencrantz violently.

 

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ?” Rosencrantz laughs.

 

“Rhetoric ! Game and match ! (Pause.) Where's it going to end ?”

 

“That's the question.”

 

“It's all questions.”

 

“Do you think it matters ?”

 

“Doesn't it matter to you ?”

 

“Why should it matter ?”

 

“What does it matter why ?”

 

“Doesn't it matter why it matters ?” Guildenstern teases gently.

 

Rosencrantz rounds on Guildenstern. “What's the matter with you ?”

 

A pause.

 

“It doesn't matter.” The bell rings and they play as they walk, Hamlet and Horatio at their heels.

 

“What's the game ?” Rosencrantz asks.

 

“What are the rules ?”

 

“Excuse me, may we play ?” Hamlet says from behind them. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern look at each other then at Hamlet.

 

“By we, he means I,” Horatio mutters.

 

“You wouldn't like to play ?” Rosencrantz asks.

 

“No.”

 

“Statement ! L–”

 

“Oh hush.” Rosencrantz laughs with Guildenstern.

 

“May I try at it, then ?” Hamlet asks.

 

“Try at what ?”

 

“Do you not want me to play ?”

 

“Would you like to play ?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Statement, one-love.”

 

“That's not fair… I didn't know we'd started.”

 

“Didn't you ?” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern laugh and Hamlet frowns. Horatio places a hand on Hamlet's shoulder

 

“They're tricky. Joksters.”

 

“Quite…”


	4. Cousin O' Cousin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Hamlet's home life and the introduction to Fortinbras  
> An unlikely friendship blossoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rufus Sewell is my Fortinbras
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> A lil' blood, nondescript  
> Mild violence  
> Underage drinking  
> Underage smoking  
> Implied Home Abuse

Extortionate trinkets of deep, lustrous gold and silken silver coruscates in the glimmering light provided, shooting beams of pure wealth into every corner of the lavish room. Hamlet falls to his king, satin, silks, white and creams sheets and blankets cover. He turns to one of his pillows and groans into the chiffon.

 

“Woe is me,” he whines pathetically. It's but only a Monday. Only indeed for all the reasons above. Friday seems so far away, in Hamlet's eyes now. He doesn't know what to do 'til then. How to make it through. He wouldn't do any work. He knows he wouldn't. He's so overwhelmed and stressed out, he feels bored but scared. That doesn't make sense, he thinks. Does it now ?

 

“Are you up, Hamlet ?” It was his… uncle. Claudius. His uncle. His uncle. His uncle his uncle his uncle. His father was dead. “Mind taking Fortinbras to school with you ?” Great. Now he has to babysit.

 

* * *

 

 

“What's it like.”

 

“What's what like ?”

 

“The school. The education. The kids.”

 

“Shitty, crappy, and idiotic.”

 

“In that order ?”

 

“To their respective correspondents.”

 

“I see.” Hamlet and Fortinbras are on the road for not even five minutes and already Fortinbras is Questions. Full of questions. Annoying questions.

 

“What is Horatio like ?”

 

“Who ? Oh… he's cool.”

 

“Just 'cool’ ?” Hamlet shrugs. He doesn't need his best friend finding a new, better friend. Because that's what Fortinbras is. Better. He'd be a better friend than Hamlet. Hamlet shutters at the thought.

 

“Hamlet,” Fortinbras starts again. Hamlet gives a side eye to his cousin. Fortinbras’ curly brown hair is parted in the middle, some of the curls falling in front of his dull sea foam green eyes. Hamlet looks back to the road. “You dislike me.”

 

“Nay, you're an absolute treat to be around, our meetings are always pleasurable, and we have a lot in common.”

 

“So much venom from a simple, unintimidating character.”

 

“Did you need something ?” Fortinbras nods.

 

“I want to meet your friends.”

 

“Meet your own friends.”

 

“Does my dear cousin have no friends ? Aside from… oh, what's his name, I just said it.” Fortinbras laughs to himself. “Ho- Whore- H-”

 

“Horatio, for God's sake.” Fortinbras is smiling. Hamlet doesn't have to look at him to know. “You can't meet him.”

 

“For what reason ?”

 

“He doesn't like new people.”

 

“Everyone likes new people.”

 

“Not him.”

 

“Religious ?”

 

“Nay.”

 

“Racist ?”

 

“Nay.”

 

“Gay ?” Hamlet almost says nay on instinct before being hit with a wave of nausea. Is it nausea ? It's not the nausea that forms at the base of one's throat. It’s the nausea that starts from the core of one's waist and spreads to the lungs.

 

“Nay…” he mutters, lamely. Fortinbras clicks his tongue.

 

“Shame.” Hamlet clenches his jaw and continues to drive.

* * *

 

 

“Who might this be, then ?” Rosencrantz asks, looking Fortinbras up and down. Fortinbras smiles and looks to Hamlet for an introduction. Hamlet rolls his eyes after a beat of the worst silence in existence.

 

“My- this is my cousin, Fortinbras. He came here from Norway.” Rosencrantz holds out a hand. He says, “It's a pleasure to meet you, _Fork in Bras_.” Hamlet and Guildenstern smirk, while Fortinbras blinks and gently (reluctantly), takes Rosencrantz's hand in his. Rosencrantz shakes it well and rough and then points to Guildenstern.

 

“This is my buddy, Guildenstern.” Guildenstern settles for a simple nod as a greeting and Fortinbras physically appreciates that, nodding his head low, eyes not breaking contact from Guildenstern. Guildenstern quickly frowns.

 

“And this,” Rosencrantz continues, pointing to the man opposite of Hamlet. “is Horatio, my other good friend.” Fortinbras’ eyes light up and Hamlet wants to punch him. Punch them both, Rosencrantz and Fortinbras. He wanted to shield Horatio from his unfamiliar cousin.

 

“Ah… you're the infamous Horatio.” Horatio doesn't nod or smile and instead puts his hand in Fortinbras’ extended one. Which is a mistake. Fortinbras brings Horatio's hand to his mouth and kisses it gently. Hamlet can see the faintest hint of blush spread across his friend's face and Hamlet's knuckles turn white.

 

“You've heard of me ?’

 

“Hamlet never stops talking about you.” Horatio doesn't look at Hamlet and only nods.

 

“Interesting. I've heard nothing about you.” Everyone's emotions just then become so thick and unfiltered. Fortinbras’ eyes widen, and his smile drops. Rosencrantz wants to laugh. Guildenstern shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Hamlet curses Horatio from his bluntness.

 

“You didn't… mention me coming, cousin ? You don't speak about your only cousin with your friends ?” Fortinbras is facing Hamlet now.

 

“God, no. You've never been brought up. I've never had-”

 

“Fine. Methought you wanted me to… have friends here. Be welcomed. I guess I… misread you. Sarcasm runs in the family, yeah ? I'll figure the grounds out myself. Thank you.” With that Fortinbras is gone. Good.

 

“Aww, you made him feel bad,” Rosencrantz says though Hamlet doesn't know whether he's addressing him or Horatio. Hamlet looks to Horatio who has no certain emotion on his face.

 

“It's hard moving to a new school,” Horatio mutters. “but a whole new country ? That's got to be scary.” Guilt, shame, regret. What be you, Hamlet feels it. He feels it all and more.

 

“Why do you have to make me feel bad ?” There Hamlet goes again, making it all about himself. He regrets his word choice but doesn't rephrase it or take it back. Horatio's eyebrows draw together and he looks down at Hamlet.

 

“Go apologize, Hamlet,” he says at his behest. Hamlet has no choice but to listen. He knows Horatio is right. He walks off to find his cousin.

 

* * *

By the time he's caught up with Fortinbras, Fortinbras is sitting around a few other kids. Hamlet frowns even more than before, if that's possible. Surrounding Fortinbras is Tybalt Capulet, one of the most idiotic and backward bullies of the school. Aside from the Nobles, he and his crew are the most popular of groups. Around Tybalt is Tamora Goth, a dictating, bossy woman; Richard III, a mean and ugly soul; Shylock, a real creep who bribes students to do his homework for him (some say he cuts women up in his basement, which wouldn't be surprising); and Aaron Moor, Tamora's boyfriend and bodyguard. And their leader is Iago Trust. The most heinous, sociopathic man on Earth. You'd be stupid not to be scared of him. Hamlet clenches his jaw when he sees Iago laughing at something Fortinbras tells him.

 

“Ah ! Speak of the Devil,” Hamlet hears Tybalt utter. Oh, Tybalt doesn't belong here. Tybalt isn't evil, just stupid. And short-tempered. Clouded by unnecessary anger. Hamlet nods.

 

“Okay, Fortinbras ? May I talk to you in private ?”

 

“Aww, whatever you wanna say, you can say it here,” Tamora draws in a low, silky voice. Taunting voice. “We don't bite.”

 

“A bite's replacement is a bark.”

 

“What's said in this group stays in this group.”

 

“I think biting me would be more effective.” Tamora frowns. Hamlet looks to Fortinbras. Fortinbras saves and nods.

 

“You don't want to hang out with them,” Hamlet says simply. "You'll… regret it. Those are bad pe–”

 

“Oh ! So now you want to show me the ropes ? Give me advice ? Give me a tour ? Tell me about the school ?” Hamlet clenches his jaw.

 

“I'm sorry.” Fortinbras shakes his head.

 

“I was… I wasn't going to relate you to your father. I was going to treat you as a separate person, but you're just as backwards as your old man. Or… you are just like him… when he was still breathing–” A crack radiates off of the metal awning. A pulsating burn stings Hamlet's knuckles but the pain is suppressed by adrenaline. Fortinbras’ lips are already dripping with blood and Hamlet watches Fortinbras grab his nose, squealing in pain. Hamlet only sees Fortinbras, not Tamora rushing to his cousin's side or Tybalt putting his fists up or even Horatio pulling him back. The last thing he remembers is Fortinbras’ bloody face and Hamlet's own excitement. Horatio remembers his friend's laugh.

* * *

“I'm disappointed... but not surprised,” his mother says quietly. Hamlet and Claudius and Gertrude are sitting in the principal's office. Gertrude is wearing a floral spring dress and a small hat. She had curled her hair. Claudius is wearing a polo and slacks. They were on a date before being called to the school. Hamlet smirks.

 

“This is your son's first time getting into serious trouble. We can let him get off with a week out of school suspension. Some at home discipline might be... uh, helpful, too. It might be–”

 

“Eye opening,” Hamlet mutters with a smile. The principal smiles firmly, lips tights, eyes worried. Gertrude pinches Hamlet's clothed arm and smiles.

 

“Thank you… I'm so sorry...” The principal nods.

 

“Family rivalry is tough. And common. Which is why I'm not too surprised or worried.”

 

“Nor,” Hamlet corrects.

 

“Enough,” Claudius growls. Hamlet's jaw locks and he looks up to Claudius from his chair. Claudius is standing next to Gertrude, angry. Sorry I've blocked you, Hamlet thinks, crudely. “This won't happen again.” Claudius places his hand on Hamlet's already bruised shoulder and adds pressure. Hamlet bites his tongue and feels blistering blood.

 

“Your Fortinbras is in the nurse's now.”

 

And boy, does he look awful. Hamlet can't help but to smile at the state of his cousin. Bloodshot eyes, sweat-stained forehead with his thick brown curls hugging it, black and red nose with a cotton pad taped to it, his full lips are chapped, and his dark skin is flushed. Hamlet frowns. Damn it, he still looks good, even when he's got a broken nose.

 

“Say you're sorry,” Gertrude says calmly. Hamlet nods.

 

“Yeah, say you're sorry.”

 

“No,” Gertrude mumbles. “You say sorry, Hamlet.” Hamlet blinks.

 

“You... want me to apologize for someone who's made fun of my father's death ?” Gertrude pales. Hamlet begins to laugh. He laughs, and it's genuine. It's so genuine, this is something out of a sitcom ! A dream ! His own mother wants him to apologize to a man who ridiculed his deceased father. How mad is that.

 

“Suspend me, ground me, kill me, I'm not apologizing to him.”

 

“I know you won't,” Fortinbras says. Hamlet stops smiling. “I guess I'll be the bigger man and apologize myself.”

 

“You're not being the bigger man. You're doing what you should do.”

 

“Hamlet,” Gertrude sighs. “Just... stop talking.” Hamlet closes his mouth and eyes Fortinbras carefully. His green eyes seem calm… too calm. Is he going to insult Hamlet again ? Maybe indirectly. Condescendingly. Hamlet is prepared.

 

“I'm sorry. What I said about your father wasn't right and in a sense I... deserved this.” Hamlet waited for Fortinbras to continue.

 

“And ?”

 

“What ?” Hamlet relaxes and looks down. Now he feels embarrassed. He's being childish. Maybe Fortinbras... maybe Fortinbras... is being sincere. Hamlet looks back up at his cousin and nods.

 

“Thank you… I'm…” Hamlet observes Fortinbras’ face and nose and lips. They linger on his cousin's red-stained lips while he continues. “I'm sorry,” he mutters finally. “I hope your nose isn't too deformed after this.” Fortinbras laughs. It's hoarse and crackly, like a log on fire.

 

“Don't be sorry for that. I don't want you to be sorry for something that was done right. I want you to apologize for neglecting me when I needed you.” Hamlet purses his lips and feels his cheeks flush. Fortinbras doesn't let off of Hamlet's icy eyes. Hamlet finally meets them with his own and takes in a deep breath.

 

“I'm sorry. For not being a good cousin. You're... absolutely right...” Hamlet pauses. If Fortinbras and Hamlet become close, they could... work together. Hamlet looks to Claudius, his mind at 100mph. He looks back to Fortinbras. This isn't about apologies anymore. This is about winning trust from his cousin. “I wasn't there when you needed it and I couldn't be any more sorry... I realized that after you walked away from us and I went to... to try to win you back in a sense.” Fortinbras seems to glow at this. His green eyes aren't calm anymore; Hamlet can see his heartbeat in them. Gertrude clears her throat.

 

“Both of you are grounded, you know.” Fortinbras and Hamlet nod absentmindedly. Then they go home.

* * *

 

 

“Hamlet, your father Hamlet I mean, said that he didn't even know Fortinbras, my father Fortinbras I mean, was his distant brother.”

 

“I didn't know that, either.”

 

“You were too young to know when we met.” Hamlet frowns.

 

“I'm sorry for what happened to your father.” Fortinbras shrugs.

 

“I miss him, but I'm... over mourning. I'm moving on.”

 

“Wish it was that easy for me... I'm still sensitive.” Fortinbras laughs and points to his nose.

 

“I figured.” Hamlet chuckles. They’re laying on Hamlet's bed. They didn't finish the school-day and Hamlet is grounded to his room. But for some reason, Fortinbras wanted to come into Hamlet's room and talk. Hamlet assumed at first Fortinbras wanted to get even. In the comfort of their own room. Instead, they made small talk which branched into a lot of other topics. Before long it was eight at night and Hamlet didn't notice the texts from Horatio that blew up his phone all day.

 

The last text reads:

 

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_  Please tell me you're okay

 

Hamlet smiles.

 

“So what is you and uh... Horatio's relationship ?”

 

“We're friends. I was his first friend in third grade. We've been close since we were, what ? Nine ? about…”

 

“Just friends ?” Hamlet shrugs and nods.

 

“Oh, great ! So I have a chance.” Hamlet frowns a bit but then laughs.

 

“You couldn't get anyone with that cocky attitude, bandage-face.”

 

“Ha ha, funny, Cousin.” Hamlet smirks.

 

“Besides. I don't think you're his type, vice versa.”

 

“Only one way to find out “ Hamlet doesn't reply.

 

 _ **Hamlet:**_ im okay

 _ **Hamlet:** _hanging out with brass right now

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_ you both are... getting along ?

 _ **Hamlet:**_  hes cool. he also has a crush on you

 

“Hey ! Don't send that,” Fortinbras begs. Hamlet laughs and deletes the text. Instead, he texts:

 

 _ **Hamlet:**_ hes cool. you should come over

 

“He isn't allowed,” Fortinbras says a matter-of-factly. Hamlet laughs.

 

“Oh, you have no idea... we don't listen to the rules.”

 

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_ I'd dirty your white carpet and walls

 _ **Hamlet:**_  stop bein’ a bitchboy, bitchboy

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_ I told you to stop calling me that :(

Hamlet laughs and he and his cousin talk more until Horatio arrives at the door.

 

 

Claudius took over Hamlet's (Young Hamlet’s father) business after he died and works there all day. Gertrude is his assistant. They're never really home. Which is fine.

 

Hamlet's house is something out of a movie. The atrium has two parallel spiraling staircases leading up to a large balcony with doors on every side leading to new places (hallways, common rooms, sometimes just bedrooms) On the bottom floor in-between the stairs is a glass double door that leads to their private pool. It's outside but surrounded by the rest of the house. Horatio's been to Hamlet's house a few times, but never for long. Hamlet watches Horatio walk around, admiring the old paintings, knick-knacks, jewelry, the patterns on the doors and stairs... Fortinbras eventually breaks the silence by announcing Horatio's arrival.

 

“Horatio ! Welcome !” Horatio looks up to Hamlet first, then Fortinbras. He smiles. “Glad you could make it.” Hamlet hears the sincerity in his dark haired friend's voice. Hamlet says nothing.

 

“Good day, Fortinbras… Hello, Hamlet.” Hamlet smiles and nods.

 

“Come up,” Fortinbras commands gently. Horatio begins to climb the stairs and walks around the corner to meet Fortinbras half-way.

 

“How's your nose ?” He asks, genuinely concerned. Fortinbras shrugs.

 

“You should see the other guy.” Horatio chuckles, dryly, but endearingly. “So, you come here often ?” Fortinbras asks, leaning on the balcony bars. Horatio crosses his arms and almost nods, but shakes his head instead.

 

“Actually, no. Just here as a tourist. Which site do you recommend seeing first ?”

 

“Sight ? I recommend you look in a mirror.”

 

“I'm going to VOMIT,” Hamlet yells from down the balcony. Horatio smiles and walks past Fortinbras to stand next to Hamlet as the blond peers over the fence.

 

“Are you okay ?” Hamlet shrugs.

 

“Yeah. Fortinbras isn't an awful person.”

 

“Hey–”

 

“That being said… I actually think he's a cool dude.”

 

“See, Horatio,” Fortinbras begins. “The key to true friendship is violence first.” Horatio looks up.

 

“Yeah, I don't… really think that's tru–”

 

“And now look at us ! At Hamlet and I ! We're best buds. How about those apples.”

 

“Those apples,” Hamlet mutters.

 

“Anyhow ! Thirsty ? Hungry ? Want something from the kitchen ?” Horatio shakes his head.

 

“Thank you, but I'm amazing.”

* * *

 

 

“Wait, so Hamlet basically _forced_ you to be his friend ?” After a few glasses of wine (Thanks, Mother thinks Hamlet) the boys decided to lay in the billiard room. Horatio and Fortinbras are sprawled on the red velvet couch while Hamlet is on the pool table, playing with some of the balls. In the background, an arcade machine is buzzing and pinball machines are whirring. It's comforting. To Hamlet.

 

“No– I mean kinda. I never– did I say yes ?” Horatio looks to Hamlet. Hamlet's on his back, one knee bent with his foot over a hole and the other dangling off the pool table. He takes a drag from one of Claudius’ cigars and cough-laughs.

 

“Yeah.” He takes another quick drag. “You said you wanted to marry me, remember ?” Horatio flushes and all Hamlet can hear is Fortinbras’ wheeze-laugh. Hamlet laughs, too. A chuckling laugh. He envies Horatio's smooth, formal laugh. When he hears the rare thing, at least.

 

“Fuck, I wish I had that kind of friendship with someone,” Fortinbras says quietly, taking another sip of Gertrude's wine. Horatio takes the bottle from Fortinbras as Hamlet rises to sit up, a coughing fit ready to happen.

 

“You know,” cough, “you can still,” cough, “have a–” a long cough, and now Horatio and Fortinbras are laughing. “You can still have a friendship like ours with us.”

 

“It won't be the same. And what about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern ? They didn't get that same offer ?” Hamlet stays quiet. “I see the way you guys look at each other and talk to each other... you guys are, uh. Soul buds.”

 

“Soul buds, eh ?” Horatio laughs. Fortinbras kicks him softly and laughs.

 

“I can't think right now.”

 

“None of us can. None of us can… We're being brainwashed every day,” Hamlet says. Horatio rolls his eyes.

 

“Hamlet likes to get... existential crisis on people sometimes,” he whispers to Fortinbras. Fortinbras smirks.

 

“I dig that.” Horatio rolls his eyes and takes a swig from the bottle.

 

“Not you, too... Don't encourage him-"

 

“Think about it,” Hamlet continues. “We–”

 

“Oh HAMLET, save that for the weed,” Horatio gruels. Hamlet frowns.

 

“You won't be saying that when the government comes for our heads ! And poses... poses it as a suicide– us ! Us as a suicide.” Horatio shakes his head and gets up to walk over to Hamlet. Horatio takes his blond friend's cigar and puts it in his own mouth. Their eyes lock and Hamlet smiles.

 

“You’re a fuckin’ dork.”

 

“Horatio !” Hamlet cries, getting up. Horatio takes a step back and coughs, cigar still in his mouth. “You're drunk ! You never curse."

 

“Am not. And I curse sometimes...”

 

“You are drubj,”

 

“Druhuh ? Druh, what was that ?”

 

“DEE ARE YOU EN… KAY.”

 

“You're awful.”

 

“I'm Hamlet.” Horatio laughs. His cheeks are rosy pink and his laugh sounds like an angel's choir. Hamlet can't help but to stare. Eventually Hamlet begins to laugh too, and when their laughs die down, they notice Fortinbras had left. Horatio looks back to Hamlet and Hamlet sits back on the pool table. Horatio gives Hamlet his cigar back before walking over to the alcohol table.

 

“I'm not going to school tomorrow,” Horatio says, laughing. Hamlet nods and lays back down, taking a long drag from the cigar. He can taste Horatio on it. “God, I'm not going to school tomorrow ! Me !” Horatio laughs even more before putting the wine away and laying back on the couch. Hamlet shrugs.

 

“Who cares ?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Why ?” Hamlet only hears silence, then a shift on the couch.

 

“Because I want to be a good student ! All A's, no absences.”

 

“That sounds lame.”

 

“You're lame.

 

“You're lame… er.”

 

“Shut up.

 

“Make me.”

 

“Maybe I will...” and Horatio sounds serious and Hamlet can feel his heart speed up. He sits up and looks to Horatio. Horatio looks to Hamlet and laughs. “Your hair,” he says. Hamlet reaches up to smoothen out his hair, pushing it back with his pale fingers. Horatio coughs.

 

“I haven't heard you laugh that much... in a long time.”

 

“It’s because I'm tipsy.”

 

“That's the only reason ?” Horatio grins.

 

“Of course not. You're another reason.” Hamlet smiles. He smiles and he means it. Horatio yawns.

 

“I need… I need to go home.”

 

“Let me walk you.”

 

* * *

It was past midnight. It's warmer than yesterday. The sidewalk crumbles below them as they walk to Horatio's house. Hamlet sees the decline in riches, each house becoming smaller and smaller or more deconstructed. On the roads, fiberglass cars race past them. Almost no cars are made of steel now. Which is fine since fiberglass is lighter and allows for more gas mileage. Hamlet guesses he just likes the aesthetic of steel cars better.

 

Most cars are automatic today. Robots steer them. Uber and Lyft and Taxis are out of business. Have been for years. Now there's a new app you can download for $30000 (annually) that has a robot drive you around wherever. No limit. Just plug it into your car and go. It's pretty cool, but Hamlet knows no less.

 

Horatio's wearing half of what he brought over. His coat, scarf, and button up are back at Hamlet's. All he's wearing now his a white t shirt tucked into his tailored brown slacks. Hamlet himself has his jacket on, but he sees goosebumps on Horatio's skin.

 

Would it be weird ? Hamlet ponders. If he were to give Horatio his coat. Hamlet is clouded by wine and leaves his worries behind him. He takes his coat off and reaches over to put it over Horatio's shoulders. Horatio jumps at the interaction but soon settles down and takes the jacket gently. They walk in silence until they get to Horatio's.

 

“Thanks for walking me,” Horatio says, softly. Hamlet nods and kicks the concrete with his shoed toes a few times, lightly. “This is going to be a heavy hangover... when my mom used to get drunk on wine, she was… she was so sick and mean and irrational... sorry.” Hamlet laughs.

 

“Why ?”

 

“I dunno… I was about to ramble.”

 

“I like it when you ramble.” It's dark but Hamlet sees Horatio blush. He does. And he smiles. Horatio goes inside with one last goodbye and Hamlet walks home alone and without a jacket.

* * *

 

 

“It's one in the morning,” Gertrude says when Hamlet walks through the door.

 

“I was walking Horatio home.” Gertrude nods.

 

“And then what ?”

 

“Nothing ! I walked him home and that's it.” Gertrude covers her nose suddenly and her eyebrows knit.

 

“God, were you guys drinking ? And smoking ??” Hamlet shrugs and begins to go upstairs.

 

“What’s it to you.”

 

“Hamlet ! Don't ignore me !” Hamlet does. And he walks to his room, ignoring her pleas and arguments. When he gets into his room he sees Fortinbras asleep in his bed. Of course. Poor thing probably got lost, drunk on wine, thought it was his bed. Hamlet walks over to Fortinbras and lightly touches the bandage on his nose, just to see if it could hold on for the night. This wakes Fortinbras up, slightly. Hamlet watches his cousin's eyes open slightly, his green eyes dilated, swollen.

 

“Hey,” he whispers. Hamlet smiles and gets up to go. Fortinbras grabs Hamlet's wrist and tugs it. “Where were you ? I fell asleep on your bed by accident. I was just gonna wait for you...” Fortinbras turns green for a second then reverts back to normal.

 

“Sorry, I was walking Horatio home... Are you sick ?’

 

“Little nauseous.”

 

“Don't lay on your stomach, then, nerd.” Fortinbras laughs hoarsely and rolls over. To the far side of the bed. It's an obvious invitation, but Hamlet isn't sure if this was weird or not.

 

Well, he's Hamlet's cousin. Can't be too weird.

 

Hamlet feels a wave of exhaustion crash over him as he thinks about laying down on his bed and reluctantly gets in. He faces towards Fortinbras who's already dozing off again and Hamlet studies his cousin's face. Even bloody and bruised the son of a bitch looks ridiculously handsome. Hamlet wonders what Fortinbras would look like split down the middle. Or with his beautiful green glass eyes gouged out of his sockets. Or with his full lips ripped off. Perfect white teeth plucked. Long dark eyelashes burned off. Soft, curly, beautiful, dark hair, ripped from his skull... Hamlet reaches out to touch Fortinbras’ nose again and his blue eyes widen when he sees Fortinbras leaning up to kiss the underside of Hamlet's wrist.

 

“I'm sorry,” Fortinbras breathes one more time before falling asleep. Hamlet knows why he's sorry. But he doesn't care. Hamlet turns around, frowning, and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Since Hamlet is in a suspension period, Claudius decided to take him to a golfing spree with his friends, Polonius and Polonius' son, Laertes. Polonius is Ophelia's father. But Polonius hates Hamlet. Hamlet wonders if Polonius knows about Ophelia's brief pregnancy. The look on Polonius' face would be fucking priceless.

 

Now in the bright winter sun's rays, Hamlet feels like death. He's wearing two jackets and a pair of sunglasses. He'd thrown up four times this morning and he even disgorged his vomit in the back of Claudius’ golf cart. Oops.

 

“Minimum is three,” Claudius says one hole.

 

“How's Gertrude ?” Polonius asks after his turn is up. Hamlet despises the way Claudius lights up at the question.

 

“Splendid, she's splendid.” Is she ? “Yesterday I took her to Permaleaf. The new–”

 

“–new Italian Restaurant,” Polonius nods. “I know the one.” Claudius smiles, his bleach blond mustache curling with his mouth.

 

“You look like shit, Hamlet,’ Laertes says, setting his club up next to a golf ball. Claudius and Polonius talk behind them by the golf cart, waiting for Laertes to swing.

 

“Thanks, you're not lookin' too hot yourself.”

 

“No, I mean... like shit, Hamlet.”

 

“And I _really_ appreciate your words.” Laertes swings and raises his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun.

 

“I might go over the max...” he mutters. Hamlet doesn't care. “How is Ophelia, Hamlet ? I haven't seen her since the last time I visited. She doesn't talk of you, much, anymore.” Hamlet can't lie.

He changes the subject.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Paul Rudd ?” Laertes makes a confused face and opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by Claudius.

 

“Let's go, boys !" Hamlet rushes to the cart and hops in the back with Laertes following slowly behind.

“Yes, Fortinbras has come to stay,” Claudius says one hole. Hamlet's ears perk at this.

 

“Not the father,” Polonius confirms in an inquiry.

 

“No,” Claudius agrees. “he's dead. You know what happened.” It's supposed to be a question.

 

“Was that a statement ?”

 

“Is it true ?”

 

“Yes… Old Hamlet killed him.” Hamlet's face went pale and his blood turned into ice. He could feel his veins and arteries clog with slush, slogging to and from his slowly beating heart. Fortinbras was right to say the things he did to Hamlet. But Hamlet didn't care. His father didn't mean to kill Old Fortinbras. Fuck Old Fortinbras. He was a fool for dying. Is that what you think ?

 

“His mother doesn't want him,” Claudius informs his friend in a hushed tone. Though not hushed enough. “so we took him in.”

 

“That was _generous_ of you.” The way they speak... it's so uncharacteristically condescending today. Hamlet doesn't understand why. Doesn't care to understand much

 

“For how long ?”

 

“He's still a child,” Claudius says. “For however long he needs.”

 

“Needs ? Or wants.” Claudius says nothing after that and swings one final time.

 

* * *

 

_**Bitchboy Scholar:**_ How was golfing ?

 _ **Hamlet:** _how was the hangover ?

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:** _Was it okay ?

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_ Oh fuck off... Mom made me go to school

 _ **Hamlet:**_ it was okay... laertes was there

 _ **Bitchboy Scholar:**_ Does he know about Ophelia ?

 _ **Hamlet:**_ dont think so

Hamlet lays down on his bed. It's 2 30 and Fortinbras would be home soon. He'd be lying if he says he doesn't miss him. Miss his presence. Hamlet likes Fortinbras, in a way that might be deemed as... inappropriate to outsiders. He never thought he would be in love with Fortinbras. A family love. A family love... Maybe. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

 

“Hello !” Hamlet jumps when Fortinbras barges into his room. Hamlet practically leaps from his bed and grabs his cousin's wrist. Hamlet leads Fortinbras to the window and points to the sky.

 

“It's going to snow,” he says. Fortinbras chuckles and nods, gently releasing himself from Hamlet's hand.

 

“I know.”

 

“Snow's absolutely lovely, don't you think ?”

 

“Oh, Cabin Fever is truly a tragic thing...”

 

“I'm serious ! Don't be rude.”

 

“You're acting mad.” As if Hamlet hasn't heard that one before.

 

“I enjoy the snow.”

 

“It snows here all the time.” Hamlet blinks.

 

“Does it ?” 

 

“Come.” Fortinbras tugs on Hamlet's sleeve once and walks to the kitchen. Hamlet follows, tracing his fingers along the walls and the staircase and the doors. “Teach me how to make hot chocolate.”

 

“Is hot chocolate foreign ?”

 

“I don't remember drinking any in Norway.”

 

“I see… Then of course. I only have the cheap– the microwaveable kind.”

 

“I don't care.”

 

“Didn't think you would.” Hamlet grins and goes to one of the many pantries to get out a packet. It's white with a red lining. “This is an old brand,” says Hamlet. “It's delicious. And rare,” he explains as he pours the contents into a glass mug. Fortinbras watches Hamlet pour in the water and stir it. He watches Hamlet take it out of the microwave and add milk. He stirs it again and hands the mug to Fortinbras.

 

Fortinbras takes a sip, eyes closed, cheeks rosy, nose already almost healed up.

 

“Well ?” Fortinbras opens his eyes and grins at Hamlet. Then he shrugs.

 

“Eh. I've had better.” Hamlet hits Fortinbras’ shoulder, lightly.

 

“Ass.” 

* * *

“Horatio !”

 

“Hamlet ? Why are you calling me, you hate calling...”

 

“I want to ask you something.”

 

“Wh– Okay... what is it ?”

 

“I'm outside of your window.”

 

“Jesus, Hamlet. Why'd you even call then."

 

Horatio unlocks and opens the window to his room and Hamlet jumps through.

 

“What on Earth are you wearing ?”

 

“A suit.”

 

“I'm aware.”

 

“I'm tired of your redundant questions,” Horatio makes a face. “I'm here for advice !”

 

“Going on a date with Ophelia ?”

 

“Fortinbras.”

 

“Fortinbras is going on a date with Ophelia ?”

 

“Wh– no– Enough about Ophelia ! I'm going with Fortinbras and a few of his friends from school. It's been a week of me being indoors and cooped up and he thought it'd be nice to go out. Get some air. My grounding is officially over.” Horatio crosses his arms and nods.

 

“Fine. Then you look good.”

 

“That was tight.”

 

“I am tight–”

 

“Oh ?”

 

“ _Up_ … tight… pervert… Why did you need to come over here to ask me if you looked good ?”

 

“Because tonight's going to be special. I planned it all out.” Horatio stiffened.

 

“What are you going to do...” Hamlet smiles. 

 

“Nothing.” But it was something. Horatio had an uneasy feeling in his gut.


	5. The Evil Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's fucked up, ngl
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER  
> Gore/Blood  
> Explicit Sexual Scenes  
> Incest (wouldn't be a proper Shakespearean piece without that, now would it ?)  
> Marijuana  
> idk  
> Just be warned  
> 17+ please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation with my bf and I'm ready to start this dark piece of shit again.  
> This is your LAST warning, this chapter ain't great. It's dark and dumb and skgshjk just,, good luck.

Inside the club it's like dancing on the Northern Lights; beneath the dry-ice smoke swirls an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks and gold. The music plays over the dance floor as if had fused with the bodies. It fills the air without effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sand; the sound rushing in and around every person in the room. Some react to the beat, others continue in chatter, but always it speaks to them in some manner. A lively tempo can lift them, elevate the spirit, or move them to dance, whilst a slow one can relax the mood.

 

Hamlet sits with Fortinbras and his friends at the bar. No, it's not Iago and his crew. Fortinbras had met Romeo Montague in one of his classes, making sure to listen to Hamlet and steer away from the others. Romeo hangs out with Mercutio Heart, Benvolio Montague, Othello Moor, Prospero Milan, and Lysander Love. Hamlet's hung out with Romeo and Lysander before, but doesn't know much about the rest.

 

"What's better than this !" Mercutio yells over the music. "Just guys bein' dudes." The others laugh.

 

"I dunno about y'all but... I'm lookin' to find a take-home," Prospero says. Romeo shakes his head.

 

"To each their own," the sandy-haired blond says. Hamlet thinks about Ophelia. How she'd be faring. He doesn't know why. He's supposed to be having fun ! It was his first night of being outside of the house in about five, almost six, days. He grips on tightly to his fake ID as he takes a long swig of his liquor

 

"I feel bad," Fortinbras begins a second after Prospero and Lysander leave onto the dance floor. "I should have invited Horatio, too."

 

"He wouldn't come." Hamlet takes another sip. "He hates loud and crowded places." Fortinbras scoots closer to Hamlet.

 

"A bit up-tight, huh ?" Hamlet chuckles. "A prune ?"

 

"Prune ? You mean prude ?"

 

"Is that what you call it ?"

 

"Call what." Fortinbras shakes his head. He stares into Hamlet's eyes and Hamlet stares back. Fortinbras' green eyes are so pale, almost gray, and the neon lights around them make his orbs look like crystals. Pinks, greens, even blues. Purples. Pastels. Hamlet's lost in them.

 

"Hey," Hamlet looks to Othello, his dark skin is bedazzled in pastel glitter and glow-in-the-dark stars and clouds. He cocks his head to the right. "she's been giving you the fattest sex-gaze." Hamlet looks to where Othello's speaking about and fucking fuck. Of course it's Ophelia. And she looks pissed. Hamlet awkwardly shuffles over, drink in hand.

 

"How'd you get in ?" she demands instantly. Hamlet holds up a fake ID.

 

"ID, just like you."

 

"Except I'm actually nineteen and legally allowed in here. You're barely eighteen, yeah ?"

 

"What are you gonna do, princess ? Tell on me ?" Ophelia raises her head, chin level with his gaze. "What gives ? I'm not doing anything to you."

 

"Everywhere I go... you're there."

 

"And ? Move if you're so sick of me, 'cause I got nothin' against you, babe. I still don't know what I've done to make you so angry in the past... month ?"

 

"You really want to talk about that here ?"

 

"Fuck, Ophelia. Let me drink with my friends and have some fun." Ophelia rolls her eyes and looks back to her friends. They were all awkwardly eyeing their cocktails. Viola Cesario, Olivia's girlfriend, gives Hamlet a small wave. He smiles tightly and nods at her. After a few more moments of Ophelia not even looking at him, he decides to go back to Fortinbras.

 

"So that's her..."

 

"Yeah."

 

"You both have been together for... I mean... since before Horatio."

 

"Because Polonius was extremely close with my father... and now Claudius." Fortinbras nods.

 

"She's gorgeous." Hamlet scoffs and signals the bartender over.

 

"Isn't she ?"

 

"Is she a bad person ?" Hamlet shrugs, watching the bartender refill his glass.

 

"I don't think so. She's just confusing."

 

"All women are." Hamlet laughs and holds up his drink.

 

"Cheers to that."

 

"What's this song ?" Fortinbras asks.

 

"Lone Digger ?"

 

"It's like... swing. Electro swing." Hamlet nods.

 

"Denmark loves, like, uh... Parov Stellar and Caravan Palace. Moby... Maybe not Moby. Electro Swing. Alternative Swing ? Just Electronic ?"

 

"Is that true ?"

 

"Is what true ?" Fortinbras rolls his eyes.

 

"Hamlet."

 

"Fortin..." Hamlet looks to Fortinbrs' drink. "Martini Fortini."

 

"Martini's are good."

 

"Never said they weren't." Hamlet smirks while taking a sip, eyes still locked onto Fortinbras'. 

 

Fortinbras was fucked up by the end of the night. Laughing, blushing mess. His breath was strong and thick, smelling of the mixed alcohol he had the entire night. Hamlet knew he was ready now. Fortinbras was right where he wanted him to be.

 

Fortinbras is shoved against the wall, cheek scraping the surface.. Hamlet pins Fortinbras’, quickly uses his free hand to unzip his suit pants, a mysteriously dark lust filling his eyes. Fortinbras is panting, hard, arms restricted behind him, palms sweating. Fortinbras was already down to his boxers, cock hard, pressed against the hallway wall.

 

“B-Bedroom,” Fortinbras pants out. Hamlet shakes his head, gripping Fortinbras’ tighter, pushing him harder against the wall.

 

“What if I want you here ?”

 

“What if th-they come out ?”

 

“Good. Let them have a show.”

 

“Hamlet !” Hamlet brings Fortinbras to his bedroom, aggressively throwing Fortinbras onto his bed. Fortinbras' buckle is undone, his pants zipped down, his shirt unbuttoned and revealing his slightly hairy chest. Fortinbras' curls look so soft spread across Hamlet's milk white satin sheets. Fortinbras squeezes his hand around Hamlet's gold and cream comforter and bites his pink lips.

 

"What are you waiting for ?" Hamlet shakes his head. He then thinks of his mother and Claudius.

 

"This is incest." Fortinbras laughs and sits up. He leans back, rotating his hips slowly, head tilted, exposing his neck.

 

"You're just now worried about that ?"

 

"I'm serious."

 

"As am I... who cares ? We're... very distant cousins, yeah ?"

 

"We're blood..."

 

"Hardly. C'mon Hamlet... I want you." Hamlet's blue eyes were an ocean of calm and now it's dark and stormy and greedy and lustful. He unbuckles his belt immediately and strips his pants and blazer off. He climbs over Fortinbras and begins to take his cousin's shirt off. Fortinbras allows him to do so and does the same with Hamlet. It's all hands for then, but Hamlet's quick to place a few kisses down Fortinbras' neck and bare chest after. Fortinbras is extremely verbal, luckily for Hamlet. Hamlet drinks in Fortinbras' praises and mewls of pleasure to make up for the protests in his head. 

 

Hamlet guides one of his slicked fingers into Fortinbras, making Fortinbras tense and hiss. Hamlet kisses Fortinbras' teeth-bearing mouth and shushes him gently. Fortinbras' curls are damp from sweat, sticking to the beautiful man's forehead. Hamlet finger-fucks his cousin until Fortinbras urges him to add another. They stay like this for a bit, Fortinbras under Hamlet, knees shaking, resting on Hamlet's hips. Hamlet has one arm propping him up from Fortinbras' neck. Hamlet places tiny kisses on Fortinbras' face; his forehead, cheeks, lips, ears, chin, eyelids, and even his healing nose, gently, oh-so gently.

 

"You're so soft," Hamlet whispers in Fortinbras' ear.

 

"P-... Uh... Please... Huh..." Hamlet only nods before pulling his fingers out of Fortinbras entirely. Fortinbras makes a choking noise and begins to wriggle. Hamlet sits up and lifts Fortinbras' legs over his hips. He uses his hand to guide his dick into his panting cousin, making the dark-haired man moan in what sounds like a mix of pain and pleasure. Hamlet leans back down and shushes Fortinbras softly, kissing him again and again and again. Fortinbras calms down eventually and Hamlet begins to move. Fortinbras has his hands on Hamlet's back, nails digging into his pale skin. Fortinbras urges Hamlet to move faster and harder and Hamlet abides.

 

Hamlet keeps his face to the side of Fortinbras' own. He pants into his cousin's ear, a few groans breaking through here and there.

 

Hamlet uses one of his hands to reach down and place it around Fortinbras' cock. Fortinbras shudders and his grip becomes tighter, Hamlet's sure he'll scar. Hamlet leans back up and moves his hand up and down his cousin's shaft, showering in his moans and cries of 'Hamlet'. Fortinbras closes his eyes and moves his hands up to Hamlet's hair, keeping them entangled in his blond hair. Hamlet uses this opportunity to let go off Fortinbras' dick and grab the dagger from under his pillow. Fortinbras' eyes are still closed and his moans are loud enough for Hamlet to choose his next action.

 

Fortinbras cums right before Hamlet shoves the dagger into Fortinbras' stomach. Fortinbras' eyes shoot open, green eyes clouded by lust and fear. Hamlet loves it. Revels in it. He stabs Fortinbras again, and again, all the while fucking him senseless. Blood and cum mesh and slide down to Hamlet's dick. Hamlet cums in time with his last stab. Hamlet quickly cuts Fortinbras down to his cock to try and see if he could watch himself cumming into this vessel. There's too much blood, however. Reds, and peaches, pinks, and browns. Eventually, Hamlet stops and pulls out. He watches blood and cum spill out onto his once-white sheets. He leans back and looks at the dagger. He's smiling at first... then the high is over. He frowns and drops the dagger then looks to his cousin. He's dead. Fortinbras is dead. Hamlet gets off of the bed and looks at his work. Fortinbras' legs had fallen to the right and he begins to urinate and defecate. Hamlet's calm. Calmer than what he should be. His eyelids are lazily drooped down and his mouth is a thin line. He walks over to his phone and dials Horatio.

"Jesus."

 

"I know."

 

"Fuck."

 

"I know."

 

"Fucking fuck."

 

"I know."

 

"Do you ?"

 

"No." Horatio and Hamlet stand, noses covered, in front of Hamlet's bed. It smells like hell on Earth. "I'm sorry. What do I do ?" Horatio shakes his head and looks to the dagger on the floor. It's silver with flower and vine imprints. The silver vines are actually the handle and Horatio can see a bit of flesh from behind the grip.

 

"Let's figure out where to put the body first... Then we get rid of the dagger, the sheets, the blanket, and the carpet."

 

"The carpet ?"

 

"Only that patch. I know a carpenter, Peter Quince, who can replace this..."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Don't say that to me." Hamlet nods. "And put on some pants."

 

 

Hamlet and Horatio roll Fortinbras up in Hamlet's sheets and shove them out of the window. Hamlet shoves every other blood-covered item out, as well, along with Fortinbras' clothes. Horatio promises to dispose of the body securely while Hamlet has item-burning duty. And Hamlet knows where to do that.

* * *

 

 

 

Hamlet starts a fire at the beach. It's a bonfire to anyone watching. Hamlet's wearing shorts and a white t as he throws his comforter and Fortinbras' clothes into the fire. He then looks to the dagger which he washed before taking it with him. A few passerby's (most of them high or hippies or both) complimented his fire and even one stayed. It was a tall man with wavy sand-colored hair that goes past his shoulders.

 

"Sick flames, man." He says in the most surfer-junkie accent. Hamlet nods. "What are you puttin' in it ? It's huge."

 

"Fabrics..."

 

"Tight. Me and some of my buds are over there," he points to another fire a few feet away. "are doin' our own. We have beer n' weed, if you wanna join."

 

"Oh... No, thank you."

 

"Aww. You look so lonely, man. What's the harm in hangin' out for a few smokes ?" Hamlet looks back to his dagger, then the fire. Then he nods.

 

"Alright. Where do I put this fire's ashes ?"

 

"No way. We're comin' over HERE. Your fire is clearly superior. One second, dude." Hamlet nods and watches the strange man go to pack up his site and head back over, his friends following. They set up their chairs and coolers around Hamlet and Hamlet's hit with the familiar scent of booze along with the smell of marijuana.

 

"I'm Nick Bottom," the long-haired man says, sticking out his hand. Hamlet takes it, ignoring the sticky substance on his hand, and nods.

 

"Hamlet." Nick's wearing sunglasses shaped like sunflowers despite the time of night and his jeans flare at the bottom with pink, orange, yellow, and purple generic flower patches stitched to them. His jeans are stained a brownish green where his knees are along with his clothed elbows. He has a Steve Miller Band shirt on with a striped long-sleeve shirt underneath.

 

"Hamlet. Funny name."

 

"Does your last name check out ?"

 

"Oooh, harsh. Was that a pass at me, Hammy ?" Hamlet smirks and looks down. His legs are propped and he hugs his bare knees.

 

"Sometimes people hear what they want to hear."

 

"Damn. Cute and witty." Hamlet blushes. Witty ?

 

"No..."

 

"Oh, fuck yeah, dude. Extremely witty." Hamlet laughs. Then he feels a pulsating pang in his chest and a glob of something solid in his throat. He feels like choking- no... crying. Hamlet looks to the fire and hears Nick go to get a bag from one of his other friends. A woman with long, wavy black hair and dark skin. She has blue eyeshadow on that sparkles in the light from the fire and bright cherry red lips. She looks to Hamlet and smiles, shyly. While maintaining eye-contact she leans into a tall man with short black hair and a flower crown on his head. He's drinking a beer and laughing with one of the guys next to him. Hamlet looks away and to Nick who's just now coming back. He hands Hamlet a small square gummy.

 

"Here."

 

"What is it ?"

 

"Weed, what do you think." Hamlet shakes his head.

 

"I don't-"

 

"I won't push you, but, like, these are the good shit. Like, really good. It's a fifty."

 

"A fifty ??"

 

"I know. I know. This tiny little bad boy can fit so much weed in it." Hamlet doesn't know what fifty means.

 

"I'm not sure if I should."

 

"Alrig-"

 

"Fuck it." Hamlet snatches the gummy away from Nick and chews it. It's absolutely disgusting and Nick can see it on Hamlet's face. The sandy-haired man laughs and Hamlet punches him lightly.

 

"It depends on a lot of things, but the weed should kick in anywhere from ten to, like, twenty minutes. If you aren't used to weed or your stomach is empty, it might take less time." Hamlet nods. "You alright, man ?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Got any other items to throw into the fire ?" Hamlet nods. He looks at Fortinbras' bloodied polo and picks it up. He stares at it for a minute. A minute more. Then he throws it on the fire, making it shrink, and then puff out, making Nick's friends 'ooh'. He sits back down and looks to Nick. Nick shakes his head.

 

"Why you're doing what you're doing isn't any of my business." Hamlet nods.

 

"Thank you." Nick nods and picks up a bottle of harsh apple cider from his cooler.

 

"Want one ?"

 

"No, please."

 

"Fair. You look like you've had a hellish night."

 

"You're saying that because of the blo-"

 

"I'm saying it because you look, like, totally exhausted." Hamlet blinks and looks down at the burning fabrics scattered on the logs.

 

"I've had a rough night."

 

"Fair, man. Wanna, like, talk about it ?"

 

"God, no."

 

"Also fair. I know we just met but, like... I'm cool n' stuff." Hamlet smiles.

 

"Very convincing." Nick shrugs.

 

"I'm not a salesman. But I am honest." Hamlet nods.

 

"Thank you."

 

"Nah. Thank you. You're totally awesome, man. I'm glad I met you."

 

"You barely know me."

 

"I don't even care, dude. Like, I, like... I love you."

 

"Oh God." Hamlet laughs which hurts, but he can't help it. Nick takes another drink and nods.

 

"Hamlet whatever-your-last-name-is, I'm gonna fuckin', like, marry you, idk."

 

"What ?"

 

"You're my soulmate, I can feel it."

 

"Nick, you're-"

 

"FUCKIN' radical, yeah ?"

 

"Shut up." Hamlet's smiling and blushing like crazy. He just murdered his own cousin and yet he's in a relatively good mood. Why is that ? Hamlet doesn't care, really. No. He can't wait for the weed to kick in. Has it kicked in ? He doesn't know. Doesn't need to know. Doesn't want to know. Hamlet gets up and begins to run to the ocean. Nick tilts his eyes, eyebrows narrowed and follows with a grin on his face.

 

Hamlet looks at the dagger in his hands one last time before chucking it into the black waters. It falls right where the reflection of the moon is and causes ripples. Then a short, wide, wave crashes over it. Hamlet stares at the spot where he threw it, the hair set on his forehead blowing gently in the wind. Nick walks up beside him.

 

"Feel better ?" Hamlet sighs and nods. "Nice. Ever been skinny dippin', Hammy ?" Hamlet shakes his head. "Ah. Wanna ?"

 

"Wanna what ?"

 

"Skinny dip with me, you fool."

 

"It's... cold."

 

"Says the dude wearin' shorts and a short sleeve." Hamlet shrugs one shoulder.

 

"Wanna see me naked ?" Nick laughs.

 

"No. I do want to swim, though." Hamlet frowns and looks up to Nick who's staring out to the ocean, a closed smile spread wide from cheek to cheek. "The water looks spectacular." Hamlet shakes his head.

 

"Nick Bottom, what are your motives ?"

 

"In regards tooooooo... ?"

 

"Me... Why are you with me right now."

 

"I dunno... You're, like, super cool and mysterious and I dig that, I guess." Hamlet blinks. Nick sighs and continues. "Like, I dunno, your aura speaks strongly to me."

 

"My aura ?"

 

"Shut up. I feel drawn to you."

 

"Do you know why ?"

 

"Nope. You're just that dang special, Hammy." Hamlet shakes his head. "I know you don't believe me. But I feel what I feel. I'm very, uh... Hippy-ish like that." Hamlet looks to the peace sign necklace and giggles.

 

"I couldn't tell." Nick leans himself into Hamlet. Hamlet rebalances himself and shoves back, laughing.

 

* * *

"Okay, like, let's ask questions about each other."

 

"What, like... What's your favorite color ?"

 

"Yella." Hamlet smiles.

 

"Is it yellow ?" He asks. Nick nods. They're sitting by the fire again, now.

 

"What's yours ?" Nick asks. Hamlet shrugs.

 

"I like black."

 

"Nice."

 

"Thank God."

 

"Hm ?"

 

"You're not... the people who are like 'black's a shade !'." Nick laughs.

 

"Why does it matter ? I could give less of a shit whether black is a shade or color or a letter or a smell or a person." Hamlet smiles.

 

"Fine then."

 

"Your turn."

 

"For what ?"

 

"Asking questions."

 

"What's... your favorite animal ?"

 

"Ass."

 

"I beg your pardon ?"

 

"I like donkeys. And mules. They're cute. They're like horses except fluffier and less scary, you dig ?" Hamlet nods. Odd, but fine. To each their own. "What's yours ?"

 

"I like... crows."

 

"Why ?"

 

"They're dependent, black, smart, playful..."

 

"Groovy. Okay, my turn. Umm... Was the blood on those clothes yours ?" Hamlet shakes his head.

 

"No." Nick nods. "Do you believe in God ?"

 

“Yeah,” Nick says. He reaches into his shirt and pulls out another necklace. It's of the Star of David. “I talk to Him sometimes when I'm, like, in a rut or whatever.”

 

“Do you believe in the supernatural ?” Hamlet inquires.

 

“Liiiiike… Like ghosts and demons or like faeries and unicorns.”

 

“Both.”

 

“Sure. I'm, like, super open minded.”

 

“I don't think you're that open minded.”

 

“What ?”

 

“Nothing…”

 

“No, dude, like seriously. I'm accepting of everything. Life's too fuckin’ short and pointless in the end. Why not believe in something you can't prove nor disprove ?”

 

“Wow. Really ?”

 

“Dude, I'm, like, deadass. Think about it. We're on this tiny ass planet in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere–”

 

“Colorful word choice…”

 

“–and we know when we're gonna die but we don't know where we'll go. It's fun to theorize. It's fun to plan your afterlife. It's fun to create little stories and share conspiracies.” Hamlet nods and looks away.

 

“I never thought of it that way.”

 

“Well, you should, Hammy. Especially if you did what I think you just did.” And Hamlet cries. He cries and cries. Nick hugs him and lets Hamlet cry into him. Nick smells like weed and sweet beer and sweat, but a good sweat. A comforting scent. That doesn't make sense, does it ? After a few seconds, Hamlet pulls away and shakes his head.

 

“I'm sorry. I don't usually cry.”

 

“You're all good, dude. You wanna taaaalk. Offer's still up. You're my soulmate after all !” Hamlet laughs and wipes his cheeks.

 

“I lost someone I really really liked.”

 

“A lover ? Family ?”

 

“Both.” Nick smirks.

 

“Shit. You nasty.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Sorry, I try to make light of everything when I'm baked.” Hamlet shakes his head.

 

“This was a mistake.”

 

“Man, dude, bro, Hammy, I won't pressure you, but I'm sooo understanding. Y'see that dude over there ?” Hamlet follows Nick's gaze to a light-skinned man holding a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. "He killed like two guys and I don't give a shiiiiiiiiit." Hamlet's eyes widened and he tensed up.

 

"Wh-What ??"

 

"The point is, Hammy, baby, I don't give a flying- Dude, I like... Love you."

 

"W- He ki-"

 

"Yeah, yeah." Nick nods off and takes another swig from his beer. "Cold hearted killerrrrr. Metal, right ?"

 

"M-Mine was on accident !"

 

"Was it ?" Nick moves closer to Hamlet. Hamlet looks to Nick who has the fiercest bedroom eyes ever. "Was it really an accident ? D'be hotter if it were on purpose." Hamlet gets up, breathing heavily.

 

"Th-... You're crazy..." Hamlet looks to Nick's necklace, dangling from the man's neck, to and fro. Nick frowns but his expression overall doesn't change.

 

"Yeah. Probably. Mad's a better term. It's more..." Nick ponders for a second, looking up, then back to Hamlet. "Fun."

 

"You think murder is fun ?"

 

"You said it, not me."

 

"News flash, Nick, congrats, you are mad. Psycho." Hamlet begins to walk away before Nick calls out again.

 

"At least I'm not a murderer." Hamlet blinks. He feels a rush of heat flood his abdomen and his heartbeat quickens. He turns around, hearts in his eyes. He sits on the log once more and takes Nick's hand in his own.

 

"You really think murder his hot ?" Nick smirks and nods, rubbing circles into Hamlet's wrist. Hamlet tilts his head gently. "Wanna see it... up close ?" Nick's eyes widened and he nods, drunkenly and stoned out of his mind. Hamlet blinks slowly, blond eyelashes brushing against his cheeks softly. Nick stares at Hamlet for a few more seconds before they depart away from Nick's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u was at the club  
> bottom's up when I first killed u  
> couldn't get enough  
> now I gotta kill this hippy

**Author's Note:**

> Actual and appropriate constructive criticism is appreciated ♡


End file.
